The Rest of My Life
by Josephine Martin
Summary: Post NFA. What happened to everyone after the show finished? There was an apocalypse, but was there a Shanshu? And were there really no consequences from creating all those Slayers? Will be Spuffy just so there's no confusion. Now complete!
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer: I don't own Spike, Buffy or any of the other characters you might recognise. They belong to Joss Wheddon, and all cred for them must go to him. I just like to play - especially now he's gone on to other things.**

**Chapter 1**

Rome, 18 May 2004

It isn't the first dream I've had where Spike had a starring role. And no, it's not that sort of dream. I've dreamt of him pretty regularly these past months - since he burned up in Sunnydale - but lately, they've been different. If I didn't know better, I'd say they're Slayer dreams, but, since I know Spike's gone, I do know better. The most recent dreams show him battling … something. Mainly it's something faceless, formless, but you just know it's evil. Compared to those dreams, tonight's is almost whimsical. Tonight, he's fighting a dragon. A dragon with a bell. And, no, it's not the sort of bell that could be placed around its neck - always assuming that anyone would want to do such a thing. It's an electronic bell sound - the sort of irritating noise that comes from some phones. A dragon with a phone? That makes even less sense than a dragon with a bell around its neck. Spike, of course, has both hands busy fighting the dragon, so he can't answer it, and, between strokes of his sword and diving to avoid the flame that's spouting from its mouth, he's telling me to "Bloody answer it!".

Somewhere, in the midst of this, I remember it is a dream - something I'd been aware of as it started, but which somehow I'd forgotten. And, if it's a dream, then maybe I need to wake up to …

That's it. I'm desperately trying to open eyes that feel gritted together, and, at the same time, I'm reaching out to the table at my bedside. I manage to grab it, and, peering through half-closed eyelids, I press the button to accept the call. The voice I hear is familiar.

"Buffy? Is that you?"

I grunt in response. Well, I'm sorry, but I'm out of training as far as apocalypses go, and I'm used to having some time to wake up before I have to be coherent.

"Buffy, I want you to get on the first available flight to Los Angeles. There's something big happening there."

Los Angeles means Angel, and that's enough to speed up the waking process. "Los Angeles?" I parrot. I said 'speed up' not 'complete'.

"Yes, Buffy. Did I waken you?"

I glance at the clock by my bedside to check that my feeling of indignation will be justified. It's ten thirty, so maybe not.

"Sorry, Giles. I need to go to LA. I've got that."

"Look, I've sent you an email - it's got the latest information from the people I've got watching Angel. You know I've been gravely concerned as to how his experiment with Wolfram and Hart has been working – we've discussed it a number of times. Well, the latest information seems to imply that he may have gone over to them, and I've had a report from the Coven in Devon that there's some serious power amassing in Los Angeles. Whatever it is, I've got to assume the worst. Willow's on her way there - the Coven has agreed to teleport her direct, and I've alerted all the Slayers who can get there quickly, but we've got to accept that there's a possibility that Angelus has returned. If there's any chance at all that that is what has happened, then I want you there."

Ok, he's really got my attention now. Angelus? The prospect makes me feel physically ill.

"Right, Giles. I'll pack a bag. Can you organise the ticket from there? It'd probably save me some time."

"I will, Buffy, and I'll get someone to meet you at the airport with an update. I'll call back with your flight details as soon as I've got them."

With that, he signs off, and I go for a quick shower. This is the downside of a good social life - the morning after. I knew last night would be late, so I booked a day off today.

An hour later I'm in a cab on the way to the airport. I've got my laptop, and I downloaded Giles' files before I left. Dawn's easily covered. Maria, the housekeeper supplied for us by the Council along with the apartment, doubles as a minder for her. And Dawn knows she can wrap Maria round her little finger.

I couldn't reach Carlo before the cab came, so as we drive towards the airport, I leave him a message explaining that urgent business has come up. It's a pity, as we had planned a quiet night in together. Still, sounds as if whatever's happening in LA is more important than my social life, and in some ways it feels oddly familiar to offer it up on the altar of Slayerness.

I'm barely on time to get through security when I get to the airport, and the flight's on time, so at least I don't have to hang around too long. When I'm able to, I get the laptop out and take a look at the files Giles sent me. The surprising thing is that he's sent me the whole set - going back to when he first set up surveillance on Angel in the first place. I was planning on ignoring the earlier reports for now, but then I notice that he's added a note at the start of the most recent file.

_Buffy, _

_You'll no doubt see that I've included the reports you've already seen. That's because there were parts of those reports which were omitted from the versions I sent you previously. I'll explain my reasons for the censorship later, if you wish, just believe that it was done at first because I wasn't sure of the facts, and later because I felt it was in your best interests to withhold the information._

_Giles_

If that doesn't ring a few alarm bells, then I don't know what would. Let's face it, Giles' record as far as keeping information from me doesn't inspire confidence – going back to the time when he found a prophecy that I was going to die at sixteen. I open the first report and start to read. It's all pretty familiar, so I scan rather than reading the detail, assuming that whatever it is will stand out. And it does. Late last summer, there's an entry where there's a new face described - someone who was seen talking, or rather arguing, with Angel and his team. As I read the description, I feel this strange sensation in my stomach. It's like butterflies, but they don't have gossamer wings - more like wings of lead. White-blond hair, dressed in black, English accent. I know there could be any number of people who answer to that description, but it's obvious who's the first person I think of - and it's equally obvious that Giles had the same idea.

I carry on reading, ignoring most of it, but homing in on whenever the Spike look-alike is mentioned. The others - including Angel – apparently do refer to him as Spike, but the report stresses that there's been no formal confirmation that it is him, or information as to how he could be back. The assumption in the report is that Angel brought him back as part of some plan he was working on, but that's pretty much standard for the paranoia level of the report. The authors were pretty much determined to look at all of Angel's actions in the darkest possible light, and this is no exception.

I'm interrupted in my reading by the offer of food, and since I didn't have time for breakfast before I left, I reluctantly put the laptop down while I eat the fruit, bread and coffee provided. As soon as I can, though, I'm back to reading, skimming over the familiar stuff, and carefully going over every mention of Spike.

The next key part though, comes in the report submitted by Andrew after he'd brought Dana back. I remember being annoyed with Giles when he sent Andrew to LA. I wanted to take the team of Slayers, but Giles insisted it was an ideal test of Andrew's competence. Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing that report at all. Reading through it, Spike was the secondary hero of the piece - second to Andrew himself, of course.

Going on, it becomes obvious that, from being barely tolerated by Angel, Spike has become more and more a part of Angel's team - along with Wesley, Charles Gunn, a physicist called Fred, and a green demon called Lorne. I remember Angel mentioned some of them when he called last year to let me know that Cordelia was dead.

By the time I've finished the reports, I'm clear that Spike, somehow, came back. All this time I've been missing him, wishing I could talk to him, and if I'd only known it, I could have picked up the phone and done just that. Infuriatingly, not just Giles, but Angel and Andrew all knew he was back, and they conspired not to tell me. The bit that really hurts, though, is that Spike didn't get in touch. Giles and Angel doing things 'for my own good', infuriating as it is, is normal behaviour for them. But Spike? It's not his way. Not unless he finally decided that he didn't love me after all. After Sunnydale, after those last few days when I finally realised just how much I cared about him, when I finally got the courage to tell him … he didn't tell me he was back.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I haven't been languishing without him. Yes, I missed him. Yes, I'd have given a lot to have him back, but there was something about what he did - giving his life willingly - that was just so … Spike … that I felt that to mourn would be wrong. His sacrifice gave me the chance to have a life outside Sunnydale and chasing the next apocalypse. Now, I'm one of, well, a lot of Slayers. (Giles is still counting them, although he's been disappointed that there're fewer than he'd expected.) It's not my responsibility any more - it's a shared responsibility. And with Giles in charge of the Council, all those Slayers who are active are paid at least something. In the meantime, I've had a good job, responsibility for training some of the new Slayers and the chance to travel around Europe to investigate things for the Council. Dawn's had stability, and a sister who's able to be there for her in ways I never could have managed while I was the Chosen One.

I don't think any of my friends realised just how much I missed Spike. Well, maybe Dawn, but she doesn't talk about him. I assume it's guilt or something because she never did get back on good terms with him before … well, I was going to say before he was gone, but it looks like I should have said 'before he moved to LA'. I take a deep breath at that. Whatever happened to Spike, the one certainty is that he didn't plan it any more than I planned to be brought back by Willow. I just hope he wasn't ripped out of heaven.

We've all done pretty well out of the changes that Spike's sacrifice brought. Willow's been playing a role for the Council too, and, since she and Kennedy split up, she's been roaming the world collecting as much information on magics as she can. Andrew, well, he's training to be a Watcher. Faith and Robin disappeared as soon as they could. I haven't heard from either of them, but something tells me they'll be ok whether or not they're still together.

The only one I worry about is Xander. Anya's death hit him hard, and it seemed like being around the rest of us meant he'd never be able to forget, so he left. Last I heard, he was in Florida, working on the boom there building holiday homes for foreign investors, but he's been moving around a fair bit. He calls from time to time, makes me laugh with his stories of life wherever he is, tells me he's fine, and then he's gone again, sometimes for months.

I go back to thinking about the reports. The idea that Angel brought Spike back is just plain silly. Spike thought little enough of Angel, but if anything, Angel always hated Spike even more. Whatever's happened, I can't think of anything that fits.

The only good thing about spending all this time trying to work out who brought Spike back, and why he didn't contact me, is that I don't have time to consider the prospect that I'm flying to meet Angelus.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Los Angeles, Early Hours of 20 May 2004

It wasn't the first time I've gone into a fight not really expecting to come out again. Half the fun of fighting is not knowing the outcome - for me, anyway. It was one of the things Angelus could never understand about me. For him, there was no point in going into something unless you'd planned every detail to the nth degree. It never was my way, and nothing he did ever changed me.

There're some memorable times, times when the buzz has been better than anything else you can imagine, and there've been times which didn't work out so well – like the time against Glory. Of course, that ended up with Buffy dying instead of me. Then there was the time against The First when I wore the amulet. Technically, I didn't survive that one, but from my perspective, I burned up just to land up as a ghost in Angel's office in LA. And the less said about that particular bit of anticlimax, the better.

Then, there's this one. There I was with Angel, Illyria, and Gunn, against the hordes of Wolfram and Hart, and Charlie-boy was already more than half dead before we started. Then, without warning, something changed. There was this white light in the sky, and I spotted a familiar face at the centre of it. Willow, all white and glowing, was there, and the hordes looked at her for a second as if not really sure what to do about her. That soon changed when she started zapping them; then they knew they should be attacking her too, except none of them could actually reach her. It would have been all over there and then, but it seemed like somewhere on the other side they found some mojo of their own, and that kept Willow busy for a while.

And that's how I ended up fighting a dragon. I know Angel kind of wanted him, but after Willow's arrival, things got confused, and the next thing I know, the bloody dragon's got me in its claws and it's carrying me away.

I used both my sword and fangs to persuade the stupid thing to let go, and after a while I succeeded, just to fall from the sky like the proverbial lead balloon. I landed in a rubbish skip which broke my fall a bit, but by the time I'd pulled myself out of that, the dragon was back, no doubt reluctant to have its meal get away before it was properly cooked. At least I assume that was it. I've heard tales of dragons being wise, but that didn't seem to be true of this one. Then again, it could just have been determined to destroy me, and then the flames would probably be a logical idea. Anyway, it was more of a fair fight after that, and I worked hard for what seemed to be a long time to stay out of the way of the fire and still get in a few slashes with my sword. 'Course, I got pretty singed a few times, but, at last, I managed a good strike, pushing my sword into its eye. And then the bloody thing fell on top of me, and that's the last I knew.

It takes me a little while to sort through all that when I come round again. I'm not altogether sure how long it took, but at least it's still dark. I pull myself from under the slime that's all that's left of the dragon, and take a look around to work out where I am. I estimate I'm a couple of miles away from where the battle was taking place. Fortunately for the locals, I managed to fall into a dark alley so there probably weren't any witnesses, or at least none anyone would be inclined to believe.

It's painful to do anything - the burns on my sword arm are worse than I'd thought, and what with the slime everywhere, I feel every abrasion as if it's been dipped in acid. Still, as I approach the site, I'm more and more convinced that the battle's over. Everything's too quiet, or at least, normally quiet for LA in the early hours of the morning. I estimate that it's about half an hour to sunrise, so when I get to the place and find no one there, I have to decide where to go to get out of the sun. There aren't any bodies lying around - not human, blue goddess or whatever else it was that came after us. No obvious dust piles either.

Since the Wolfram and Hart building was a pile of rubble last time I saw it, the only place I can think that they'd have gone is into the Hyperion, so I try the back door first, but it's locked. Then I walk around to the front, but the place is in darkness, and when I try the door there, it won't open either. I assume we won the battle, if only because there aren't demon hordes roaming the streets, but I'm too tired to give it any more thought, so I head back towards my apartment.

No one there either, and I look longingly at the bed but sleep is just not going to happen until I'm clean again, so I bypass it. Of course, there's no hot water, so I shower in the cold, realising that hot water on the burns probably wouldn't have been a good idea anyway. Barely stopping to dry myself, I throw myself onto my bed and before I know it, I'm out cold.

I waken later - sooner than I want to be awake - to the sound of someone knocking insistently on my door. I consider ignoring it, but get the feeling that the next step will be to knock it down, so I pull myself up, grabbing a sheet to cover me. I walk towards the door, and I hear her voice just before I get there, Illyria's, that is, so I open it. She comes in and glances at my state critically before deciding that I'm so far below her that my appearance could scarcely be acceptable regardless.

"You are still alive, then."

"Or still dead, if you like," I reply. "You seem fairly lively too. What happened after I got carried away?"

"The battle was barely satisfactory," she states. "Successful, but over too quickly. The witch who came to our aid is very powerful."

"Willow? Tried to end the world a couple of years ago."

Blue's eyebrows go up in a gesture that seems grudgingly approving.

"So, who else made it?" I ask. I don't want to care about Angel, and I'm pretty sure that Gunn can't be alive, but I've got to ask.

"Angel and Gunn are both at the hospital. Gunn's condition is serious, I'm told."

"So is Angel holding his hand?"

"Angel is also injured."

"But why is he in a hospital? He's only going to be pronounced dead if he falls asleep."

"You are in error. Angel is now alive, but injured. The witch is there too, resting while she waits for the Slayer to arrive."

I hear the words, but somehow the sense of them takes longer than usual to sink in.

"Angel's human?" I demand.

"Something about a prophecy, I believe."

"And Buffy's coming?"

"The Slayer? Yes, I believe that's the name."

"Ok." Well, not a lot else I can say, except for the fact that it's not bloody ok at all.

"You are injured," she comments, taking another look at me.

"Yes, well, that's what happens when you kill a dragon."

"You should dress. The others sent me to find you. I will wait and accompany you to the hospital if you wish."

Dressing seems like a good idea. Apart from anything else, it'll give me a few minutes to let the news filter through my exhausted brain and sort out what I'm going to do.

Once back in the bedroom, I pull open one drawer and take out a t-shirt, then find some jeans in another. It takes longer to dress than it normally would. I know I should cover the worst of my injuries first - not that it'll make any difference as regards healing - it'd just be more comfortable, but somehow the discomfort seems oddly comforting. I consider the news. It looks like Angel won in the end. He got his reward, and now he's human. And worse, Buffy's on her way and she's going to run into his arms and get her happy ever after. Not that I don't want that for her. I love her so bloody much that I want to see her happy before anything else. It's just … you know … I sort of hoped that one day it might have been me. I know I said I didn't, but that was me being practical. The soft, poofy poet in me was still hoping. And if it wasn't me, I just sort of figured it'd be anyone other than the great brooder. I know that makes me sound petty and all that, but I just want someone who's worthy of her, and Angel's, well, he's too much like Angelus. There's no spontaneity in him. With him she's headed for a life perpetual tedium interspersed with regular sessions of brooding and soul-searching, and I'm not sure she's going to like that.

And then comes the question of what I'm going to do. Other than get blind drunk, that is.

I pull my fingers through my hair while I think of the decisions I made this past year. Some of them I don't regret at all. That battle? Despite the final result of it, I can't regret doing it because it was the right thing to do. Not calling Buffy? Now, that's harder. At first, not calling her made sense. I mean, what good was I to anyone as a ghost who couldn't get away from Wolfram and Hart? When I had a body, though, then it was different. Then, it was a question of showing her. Showing her I could be my own person. Showing her I could do something just because it was right, without wanting to win someone's approval. I needed to prove it to myself as much as her, but I can't really regret that decision either. And then, the longer it went on, the harder it got to make that call. I didn't really mean it to go on this long, but …

I suppose, if I'm honest, the only thing I regret is not making a point of seeing her while I was in Rome. Not that it would have been easy - between having Angel in tow and knowing she was involved with the Immortal. Funny that the idea that she might still want the Immortal now that Angel's a real boy again just didn't enter my head. Now that I consider the possibility, I still think I'm right. So, what am I going to do?

As I walk back into the living room, Illyria's sitting very straight in the chair.

"You're ready," she notices.

"Yeah," I agree. Then it occurs to me. "You said the others sent you to find me?"

"Angel wished to know if you'd survived."

"But you didn't know that I wasn't a pile of dust somewhere, did you?"

"No, we didn't. But if you weren't, then here seemed a good place to look."

"So the others don't know that I survived."

"You are correct."

Better and better.

"So, Blue, how do you feel about lying? You know, from a moral standpoint."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Los Angeles, 20 May 2004

By the time I'm in LA and through customs and immigration, it's a respectable daylight hour, and I'm met by a Council operative who introduces himself as Neville. He's smartly dressed in slacks and an open neck shirt, and I notice one or two girls watching him appreciatively as we make our way through the terminal. I don't remember seeing him before, and I suspect I would if I had – with his dark hair and very blue eyes. At least he seems a little bit in awe of me, so that's good.

"It appears that our worst fears have not been realised," he begins as soon as we get into the car. "There was a battle, but it seems to have been short and resulted in a total rout for the forces of darkness."

He then goes on to explain what he saw, and, as he speaks, I pick up bits out of my dream, but this is even more amazing than that. It's delivered in typical Council style, so it takes all my patience to listen to everything without falling asleep. I mean, how hard can it be to tell a story about a battle which included a dragon and magic and make it sound that interesting? The good news is that Willow managed to save the day. The other news is even more amazing, but still delivered in a soporific monotone. Angel has been made human by some means, and, as a result, is being treated for injuries in the hospital. Another member of the team, Charles Gunn, is also in the hospital, although his injuries are much more serious. Willow's there too, but he seems to think that was just precautionary since she passed out on the scene. Wesley didn't make it, apparently dying before the battle started. Fred appears unhurt, Lorne and Spike have disappeared. That last bit is worrying, since vampires have a habit of disappearing when there's a bit of a breeze if they've been dusted, but I make up my mind to wait before thinking too much about that. The other bit is enough for now. Angel, human? Just, wow. Talk about teenage dreams coming true. What I wouldn't have given back then for this to happen. Now? It's interesting. I honestly don't know how I'm going to feel about him, but whatever happens, I'm not going to rush into anything any more. I'm my own person now, and that's how it should be.

As we get into the city, Neville gives me the choice between going straight to my hotel or the hospital where Willow and Angel are. I choose the latter. I might be in need of some sleep, but I know I'm not going to get any until I've got some answers. We arrive at the hospital, and Neville pleads a need to make some calls, so he stays in the car while I find my way up to Willow's room. To my relief, she looks fine - a little pale perhaps, but otherwise well.

"Hey, Buffy! You missed all the fun!"

"So I hear," I answer, giving her a hug.

"So, have you heard all the news?"

"Some of it, I don't know about all," I answer, taking a seat beside her bed.

"Good, I'll tell you what I know, and then we'll go along and see the others."

"Sounds like a plan," I agree.

"So, the Coven told me something big was happening here, and they offered to teleport me and then boost me with whatever magic I needed. I called Giles, but he already knew something was going on. What I told him seemed to get him going a bit, though. Up until then he was kind of watching and waiting, I guess. So, he said he'd get some Slayers here, and I told him I was on my way too. He didn't say you were coming too - at least, not right away. That news came from Andrew."

"Andrew? He's here?"

"Flew in with some of the Slayers. Of course, by then the battle was over, but he's had them patrolling the streets in case anything got away. My guess is they all went back wherever they came from - those that could, anyway. I was doing a lot of damage until they tried using some mojo back at me. The Coven helped then too - gave me the power to shield myself, and I still managed to keep zapping a few of the others."

"Giles said … Spike was there."

Her expression changes then, going from excited animation to something less sure of itself.

"Yeah, it looked like him. Didn't get a chance to talk, but …" She's watching me as she speaks, trying to gauge my reaction.

"You think it was him?"

"As far as I can tell."

"What happened to him?"

"Illyria says she saw him being carried off by the dragon. She's looking for him – said she'd check his apartment and ask around."

"Illyria?"

"Ah yes, the Council probably didn't get all of that. Fred. I met her last year. You've heard of Fred, right? Physicist, worked with Angel? Cute girl, very bright. Seems she was taken over by some God thing last year. Illyria. It's really sad. She sort of looks like Fred, but she's a bit bluer. I don't know the whole story, but she was in the battle with the rest of them – I assume Angel was taking whatever help he could get. It's the only thing that makes him having Spike there sound reasonable. Oh, and, Wes didn't make it."

"I heard. I can't imagine him working with Angel."

"He was pretty good from what I saw last year. Not the Wesley I remembered."

"And Spike? I can't imagine him working with Angel, or Angel tolerating him around either – even if he did need him."

"According to Illyria, he was on the team too. Haven't got the whole story about how it all happened, but we can find out later if you'd like. I'm due to get out of here soon. Do you have somewhere to stay?"

"I think the Council booked something for me. Want to share?"

"Sure. It'll be like being back at college together."

There's silence for a moment, and then she throws her legs over the side of the bed.

"How's about we go and see Angel?"

And so we do.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Los Angeles, 20 May 2004

I'm surprised at how much effort it takes to persuade Blue that I want to disappear. In the end, though, she just doesn't seem to care enough either way to argue with me, and she agrees to go back and tell them that she hasn't found me. I do wonder how much I can trust her, but since she's talking about taking a look around the 'pitiful world' she's found herself on, it may not be an issue.

Once she's gone, I quickly pack up as much of my stuff as I can without making it obvious that I've moved out. On a whim, I open the box where I keep a few odds and ends looking for the skull ring. It's not there, and I try to remember where it might be, but come up blank. I can't even remember wearing it since I moved in here, so I'm sort of stuck for ideas. It's one of the few things I have from my previous existence. I mean, it was in my pocket the day Sunnydale collapsed, and it was in my pocket when I got my body back. I assume its ghost was in my pocket before then too, but I really couldn't be sure about that. It's the ring I gave to Buffy when we had our short, magically-induced engagement way back before I realised that I loved her. Somehow, I could never bring myself to get rid of it, and it's been around ever since. I stopped carrying it with me when I realised that it was something I really didn't want to share with Angel. Still, I don't have time to look for it now, and it's probably for the best. I'm supposed to be making a new start on my life, and keeping a memento like that isn't the best idea. I pull my thoughts back to the present, and find the cash I've got stashed about the place, and the bank details for where I've got the rest. It's not a normal bank of course, but demons have to have cash to survive in this human world sometimes, and there are always other demons willing to look after money on the assumption that some of it sticks. Rather like the human world, really.

I consider the total for a few minutes. It's not a lot of money, but I felt it was my moral duty to relieve Wolfram and Hart of whatever I could in that respect, and I reckon it's enough to get me started somewhere else. First stop is a demon I know who can set me up with papers. I'm just going for the bare minimum for now - a UK passport and driving licence. It's going to look like I've just been here on holiday for a few weeks so there's no need for a visa or whatever. It also suggests my initial destination.

The more I think about it, the more I realise that I've come to enjoy the Slayerette lifestyle. I mean, I like a bit of violence more than the next man, and this way I can get what I need without offending my soul, and if I do it right, I may even make some money out of it. I mean, Angel did – before he cut a deal with the devil.

I immediately decide that London's out due to Giles' presence there. He doesn't like me at all, and after that incident with the school Principal, I can't say I really want him too close to me – especially if he's got an army of Slayers working for him now. Still, if I'm in the UK, and fighting demons, then he's pretty much bound to find me eventually. I could go elsewhere, I suppose, but the more I think about going home, the more it feels like the right decision.

It comes to me suddenly in one of those flashes that seem at the same time to be blindingly obvious and immensely stupid. I try to put the thought out of my mind, but it keeps coming back, insisting on being considered. Far from keeping out of Giles' way, I should contact him. I should tell him what's happened, and promise that if he gives me an area of my own to keep demon-free, then I'll stay away from Buffy and her chance of normality with the brooding wonder. (I've got to stop calling him that. Every time I use the word brooding in connection with him it becomes breeding in my head, and that idea is just painful. The idea of little Angels running about with overhanging brows and … and the idea of Buffy being their mother … hurts.)

So, contact Giles, use the fact that he'd do almost anything to keep me away from Buffy, and get my own patch somewhere in England to keep safe. Just as long as it isn't Birmingham. Never could understand the accent. That could just be a plan.

I book into a seedy motel far enough out of LA that I hope no one'll spot me while I wait for my papers to be ready. It doesn't take too long to realise that I've considered the possibilities, and that calling Giles is my best option.

It seems to take longer to persuade his minions that Mr. Giles wants to speak to me. It's only when I say that Buffy might be in danger that I'm put through to the man who's now running the Council of Watchers.

He recognises my voice immediately.

"Spike, if you harm her …"

"Rupert, use your head. I've got not going to bloody hurt her. I had to say something to make your assistant put the call through. I haven't contacted her since Sunnydale, and I don't plan to."

"Then why exactly are you calling? Apart from rather taking the wind out of my celebrations when I heard you might not have survived the battle?" he asks, his voice dripping with venom.

"You seem well up on the news, then. I assume you've heard about Angel? He's come over all human."

"I had heard," he says, willing me to get on with the point of the call.

"So, I thought this'd be Buffy's chance to have that normal life her mum always wanted for her. Thought you'd be keen too. You know - with a human."

"And?"

"And … well, believe it or not, I want her to be happy too. Really. Just … I couldn't bear to see it - not with him."

There's silence on the other end. Old Rupert's not going to make this easy for me.

"So," I continue, wishing I hadn't started this conversation at all. "I was wondering if you'd, you know, let me have a patch somewhere I could keep the demons down. Somewhere back home. Thought about doing it without telling you but with all these new Slayers you've got, I thought it'd be better if I went through you."

"And what do you expect to get out of this, Spike?"

"Well, ideally, I want Buffy to go on believing I didn't make it out of Sunnydale, but, since she's likely in LA by now, it might be too late for that. Next best is if she thinks that the dragon got me. I want the chance to go on with what I was doing with Angel this past year - fighting against the bad guys because it's the right thing to do. Believe it or not, that's what most of this past year has been about."

"I'm not altogether sure I believe that," he mutters.

"So, have you any evidence that I've done something I shouldn't have? Any evidence I've been feeding? Killing humans? Even killing demons that weren't dangerous? You've been keeping tabs on Angel - I know you have. Andrew as good as told us that when he collected Dana."

"Just because I haven't been able to gather any evidence, doesn't mean it didn't happen."

"Don't be bloody stupid, man," I almost yell, more irritated by his attitude than I expected to be. "I'm offering you a fighter - someone you consider dispensable. Send me somewhere you don't expect me to survive, if you like. Send me somewhere that's not home if you want. Just not in the US or anywhere else Buffy's likely to be."

He seems to consider this for a while, but eventually concedes.

"Come to London. I'll arrange for you to be met and brought to somewhere we can talk discreetly. If you can convince me of your intentions, then I'll consider something."

It's the best I'm going to get out of him; I know that. Still, it's enough for now. I arrange for a flight, wishing I still had access to the Wolfram and Hart jet; now that was travelling in style. The alternative in the real world is using one of the demon companies that transport vampires and others with unusual allergies. It means being packed in a crate with little light and almost nothing to do for over twenty-four hours between the crate being sealed and opened at the other end. And during that time, I'll have more time than I want to think about what I'm doing, and how it's all going to go wrong.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Los Angeles****, 20 May 2004**

Angel seems smaller. I know hospital beds do that; my mom looked tiny when she was in one, but I never expected it to have that effect on Angel. He looks pleased to see me, holding out his arms to me as I approach. He moves his mouth for a kiss too, but I avoid that, remembering Spike's description of the last welcome I gave him - even if I know there were no tongues that time. I catch his cheek instead.

He looks vaguely disappointed, but doesn't comment, so I launch into hospital bedside manner.

"How's it going?" It sounds a bit too flip to me, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't find anything in the Slayer manual on 'What to do when your vampire ex-lover becomes human', even if I did read it.

"Ok, I think," he answers. "It's taking some getting used to."

"Being human?"

"Yeah."

"But you were injured?"

"Nothing major - just some cuts and a knock on the head that put me out for a while. That's why they insisted on keeping me here."

He turns his head then, and I can see a patch of scalp that's been stitched.

"So, you're human," I go on, stating the obvious because I can't think of anything else to say.

"Yes. I didn't expect it, because I signed away any rights to the Shanshu so I'd be accepted into the Circle of the Black Thorn. They were the power centre on earth of the Senior Partners at Wolfram and Hart. It was the only way to destroy them, and it seemed to be a fair trade. I really believed I'd never get another chance."

I nod and go for the inane again. "You're looking well, though."

"Feeling sore, but I'll deal. It's Gunn I'm worried about."

"Charles Gunn?" I ask, trying to remember what I was told.

"Yeah. He's upstairs. He didn't think he was going to live long enough to do much in the battle, but, thanks to Willow, he's still around. He was hurt pretty badly."

As he finishes speaking, the door opens and a woman comes in - a surprisingly blue woman. Willow, who'd been behind me and very quiet up until now, steps forward and introduces me.

"Buffy, this is Illyria. Remember I told you about her?" She turns to the other woman. "And this is Buffy."

Illyria regards me seriously for a moment before speaking. "I thought you'd be taller. The shell thought you were taller."

It seems like a strange thing to say, but given her anything but normal history, I suppose it sort of makes sense. I make a mental note to get more details on Illyria as soon as I can.

Before I can reply, Illyria has approached Angel. "Charles' condition is unchanged. I am told that's a good thing at the moment. And I could find no sign of Spike. I think it most likely that he didn't survive."

The stab of pain is unexpected. I mean, why should I feel pain when someone I'd already thought was gone turns out to be really gone? Angel's looking at me, watching for my reaction.

****

"Good news about Gunn," he says, carefully, his eyes not leaving mine. "I didn't think he'd make it this far."

"Yeah, I'm glad."

"And Spike? Well, if he's finally gone, I don't think he'd want us to be upset. He always enjoyed a fight, and he went out doing what he wanted to do."

The words are all true, but they smack of insincerity coming from him. He turns his attention to Willow.

"Willow, you know what? I'd love a cup of coffee. I'm sure Buffy'd like something too, wouldn't you?" he turns back to me. I'm about to say that I don't, but his eyes are clearly telling me otherwise.

"Sure, a soda - diet whatever'd be great," I agree.

"Illyria can show you where to get it?" Angel continues to Willow.

I don't think for a moment that either of them don't realise that he's dismissing them, but they both leave anyway - Willow with a grin in my direction just before she closes the door.

"So, Buffy, it's good to see you."

"You too," I agree. I'm standing beside the bed, but he gestures for me to sit - not on the chair but on the bed next to him. I do so, and he grimaces, but doesn't say anything.

"Painful?" I ask.

"It's funny. As a vampire, I could feel pain - I'd even say it was as severe as it is now, but something about knowing that it was temporary and that I'd heal in no time made it more bearable. Well, that and living forever. It's just not like that any more. Everything's different."

I nod. I'm not sure what to say.

"You heard about Wesley?"

"Yes," I answer, looking down. I can feel my eyes filling a little, more for Spike than Wesley, but Angel doesn't have to know that. There are just so many reasons to feel pain at the news. There's the fact that he was back and didn't call me, and there's the fact that it looks like he's gone … again. Either way, it hurts.

"Wes was a good man," Angel continues. "I'm going to miss him."

"And Spike?" I demand.

"Well, he did what needed to be done back there, but long term? I don't know. Let's face it, he was hardly known for his patience, now was he? Redemption's a long term deal."

I think about what he's saying, and I get what he means, but he's ignoring the fact that, in so many ways, Spike was a contradiction. He stuck with poor, loony Drusilla for who knows how long, and he stayed true to me despite my best efforts to drive him away. He had patience when it was important to him.

"That's where you're wrong," I disagree, ready to defend him, but Angel puts up a hand in a conciliatory gesture.

"Ok, ok. Let's not fight about him. He's gone. Did you even know he was back? Before today?"

"No," I admit. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't up to me to tell, Buffy. Why didn't Spike contact you?"

"I don't know."

He shrugs at that. "He's probably dust, but that shouldn't make much difference to you if you already thought that. I do accept that he was important to you though." That last bit is added hastily as he spots that I'm about to argue.

The idea that the part of my life that included Spike is over cuts me like a knife, and it's all I can do not to show the pain. Somehow, I never thought of it that way. The part of my life of being _the Slayer_ is over, but despite Spike being gone, he was still part of my life. In many ways, I felt he was responsible for so many of the good things I have now. That, and the memory of those last days we had, kept him alive for me. Now, it's different. I know, logically, it isn't. He was gone, and he's gone again, but that's not how it feels.

Angel's looking at me questioningly, so I pull myself back to the present, and try to smile.

"So, what happened?"

"Where do I start?" he asks, smiling.

"For now I'll settle for the battle. I got the Council version and Willow told me a bit, but I'd like to hear about it from your side."

"We didn't expect to make it out, you know? None of us."

I nod, but he's looking down towards his lap so he doesn't see.

"We knew. We take out those who wield the Senior Partners' power on earth; the Senior Partners are going to come after us. They all agreed. I gave them the chance to walk away. So …"

"So it's not your fault," I finish for him.

"But it is. I got us into the whole mess. I … took on Wolfram and Hart to protect … something. From that moment, it was only going to go one of two ways, and this … this was the better of the two possibilities. Wes is … gone. Lorne? He's gone too, but not in the same way. He's alive, far as I know, but what I asked him to do? It killed something inside of him. Gunn? I just hope he pulls through. Fred's gone too. Again, because I took on Wolfram and Hart."

He's silent for a moment, then he pulls himself up straighter in the bed. "The battle, well, it was an anticlimax pretty much from the moment Willow appeared. She started, you know, sending out these energy bursts, and they were falling all around us. I wanted the dragon, but when she appeared, it veered off. I heard it took Spike. Then I got hit over the head – I'm not sure of the details - and I woke up here. Illyria got help for us – Willow, Gunn and me. She was the only one left standing."

"She's … different."

"She is that. When … when Fred died, I just wanted to destroy her. And then, it's as though, once she lost the bulk of her power, bits of Fred keep leaking through. I mean, she can _be_ Fred if she wants to; I've seen her do it. But, when she's not trying, when she thinks it's just her … I like to think that something of Fred's still there."

He seems lost in thoughts for a moment.

"It's been a tough year," he says quietly.

I feel kind of like saying 'Been there, done that,' because it's so like what happened at Sunnydale. I made the decision to attack. I made the decision that Spike would wear the amulet. Yes, they all agreed. I didn't force anyone to be there, but those who died … I was responsible.

I'm surprised out of my thoughts by Angel's voice.

"I've been thinking about the future."

"Oh."

"Yes. Well, Wolfram and Hart's gone, but the Senior Partners will be back in some form or other. It might take them a while to regroup, but they'll be back. So I think I'll go back to running my own agency. Since I've lost the whole 'super strength' vibe, I'm going to need someone else."

"There're plenty of Slayers around now. Maybe I could speak to Giles."

"I was hoping that, maybe, you'd like to join the team."

"What team?" I ask, wondering just who's involved.

"I don't know yet. I guess we'll have to see. Gunn's a given if he's interested, and we could do with someone on the research front too, but you've got the strength and experience."

"Isn't Illyria strong?" I ask.

"Yes, but she's got her own agenda. I don't know if she's going to want to hang around now. But that's not the point, is it? I'd like you to stay here, work with me. Between us, we can do so much good, help so many people."

"I don't know, Angel," I answer. "I've got a life now - in Rome. I've got a job that I enjoy, and I still get to go and slay some demons pretty regularly. In a lot of ways, I'm my own boss, even if I do get paid by the Council."

"Is this because of the Immortal? I know you've been seeing him. Is that why you're turning your back on me now?" He sounds angry, and I stand up again, ready to be angry back.

"Carlo's been good to me. He's shown me around Rome, and I've had a great time with him. And as for me turning my back on you, does the thing about the pot and the kettle mean anything to you? You left me in Sunnydale, not the other way around. I don't owe you anything, so what business is it of yours that I've been seeing someone?"

"It … isn't. I know that. I just hoped that now … you'd be willing to come home."

"Look, Angel, Carlo doesn't own me. I like him. He's fun to be with, but it's not serious. If I stay in Rome, I'll probably go on seeing him, but if I decide to move somewhere else, then that's fine too. The decision comes down to what I want. Not you, or Carlo, or … anyone else. Ok?"

"Ok, I'm sorry, Buffy. I really am. I …"

And then it occurs to me. How did he know about Carlo? I know Giles was keeping tabs on Angel, but has Angel been watching me too?

"Who told you about Carlo?" I demand.

He looks embarrassed.

"No one. Or, not like that."

"What do you mean 'not like that'?"

"Well, it was Wolfram and Hart policy to keep an eye on people they considered a potential threat. I got those reports, but I only scanned them. Then, last year, the department that collated the reports linked you with the Immortal, and they alerted me. I'd told them to let me know if anyone on a given list - people I care about - were potentially in danger. Consorting with the Immortal was considered to be dangerous."

"More dangerous than fighting demons? More dangerous than closing the Hellmouth? The only thing I was in danger of was having a good time," I respond, my voice shriller than I expected, but Angel doesn't seem to notice, since he just goes on talking.

"… and well, we had to go to Rome on other business."

"You … came to Rome? You were in Rome and didn't tell me? Or would that have interfered with whoever you had keeping tabs on me?"

"We tried to see you, but you weren't in."

"You tried? Wait a minute. Who's we?"

"Spk n me," he mumbles.

"What?" I ask, knowing what I think I heard but not quite believing it.

"Spike and me," he answers more clearly.

"So, Spike was in Rome too? And neither of you bothered to say 'Hello'? He must really have hated me."

Angel looks confused. "Who? Who hated you?"

"Spike, of course. He didn't let me know he was back, and he didn't even want to talk to me when he was in Rome."

"He didn't hate you," he disagrees.

"Doesn't sound much like he cared."

"Look, Buffy, the first thing he wanted to do when he got back was call you, but he couldn't. Well, he was a ghost at first - stuck close to the Wolfram and Hart building. Later, when he got his body back, he left. He was going to go to Rome, but he changed his mind. I think, maybe, he realised at last that you had a life without him and that you were better off that way. Whatever the reason, I wasn't going to argue him out of it."

"Spike was a ghost?"

"Well, yeah, at first."

I'm thinking about that – how awful it must have been for Spike. "You mean he could, what, walk through things?"

"Incorporeal was the word we used. He couldn't feel anything, hold anything. He could still talk and he made a royal pest of himself."

Wait a minute. This isn't about Spike annoying Angel. I can sort that out in my head later. This is about what happened later.

"So, why didn't he call me when he could? Stupid vampire. This is your fault, isn't it? You made him think I wouldn't want him back again, didn't you? I've missed him this year. Really missed him. I don't know what would've happened between us, but there've been times when I've turned around to ask him something, to tell him something, and I realised he wasn't there, and it hurt."

"I'm sorry, Buffy. Yes, I think it's for the best that he's gone because I don't see how he could possibly be good for you, but I'm sorry that it hurts."

He looks contrite, but the arrogance of him telling me that Spike wouldn't be good for me is almost enough to make me explode again. Only the return of Willow and Illyria prevents further fireworks.

Willow hands me my soda, and Illyria gives Angel his coffee. We all sip from our drinks, and I do my best to calm down. I look at my watch and decide that the best thing I can do is have some sleep.

"I'm going now, Angel. I'll be back tomorrow. When are they going to let you go home?"

"In the morning, I think," he answers.

"How about you, Will? You've got my cell number? Call me when they're ready to release you, and I'll get this Council chap I've been assigned to come and get you."

"Thanks," Willow says. "But, if I go and talk to the doctor maybe I can leave right away."

"Good idea," I agree, as she leaves the room.

With only Illyria still with us, Angel seems to become more confident again, holding out his hands to me. I take them, but keep my distance.

"Think about what I said," he asks. "Please. I know you gave me the whole speech about cookies, and I don't know how long these things take, but surely you can bake here as easily as Rome. And I can't believe there isn't a better analogy than that."

I smile at that. It does seem sort of silly, but it was the best I could come up with then, and I can't think of anything better now.

"I'll think about it," I promise.

Angel seems to take that as more of a yes than I intended, because he squeezes my hands. "It'll be great, Buffy. You'll see."

"I only promised to think about it," I remind him.

"I know, but … when you do, I'm sure you'll see it's the best idea."

I'm relieved when Willow returns a quickly with the news that she's being released, and we go back to her room so she can dress and pick up her things.

First priority is going to be to get some sleep. Then, I've got to do some serious thinking about the future.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Hounslow, Greater London, 27 May 2004**

I suppose I should have expected it. I climb out of the crate in a warehouse somewhere close to Heathrow to find a Slayer with a crossbow pointed at me. Glancing around, there're another two strategically placed and similarly armed. Not a familiar face among them. I scan the area carefully. It's a warehouse, stacks of pallets on two sides. I spot the extra on that sweep. This one's different. He's big, fit, and by the look of him, he knows exactly what to do with the bow. Not bookish enough to be a Watcher, but since he's not looking to chat, I ignore him for now.

I stretch slowly. I mean, it wouldn't do for one of them to get the wrong idea, now would it?

"I see Giles still doesn't trust me," I comment, ignoring him and directing my attention at the Slayers. Three girls, all in their late teens. The one closest to me is nervous, her finger twitching.

"Easy," I murmur. "I'm not going to hurt anyone. In case Giles didn't think to mention it, I'm on a strictly animal diet now."

"And that's better how?" A voice from behind me. I turn slowly, taking in the jeans-clad girl who's there.

"And those are plastic boots, are they?" I ask, eyeing them carefully.

"Leave it out, Lena," the one in front of me breaks in. "Let's get him to Mr. Giles and then we'll be finished with him."

"Interrupting your playtime, am I?" I ask. "Well, if you just point me in the direction of _Mr._ Giles, I'll be on my way."

All three bristle at that, so I give up.

"Ok, I've got the message. You're my welcoming party. Can we get on with this? You try spending twenty-four hours in a box like that. Makes a bloke cranky."

I climb slowly out of the box, every move slow and deliberate. I look around close to me.

"There should have been another crate – a bag with all my worldly goods and all that?" I add.

"The bag's in the van," the girl in front says, nodding in the direction of a doorway, and we proceed out to a van waiting in the shade of the building. I'm bundled in the back with a reminder that the sun's shining and that I should keep away from the door.

The van's bare inside apart from me and the bag that represents my life. Pitiful, really, barely more than a change of clothes. Once the door's shut, I have no way of knowing for sure how many girls are up front or whether their minder has come along. 'Course, there could be a car following too. The van starts to move, and I just know it's going to be an uncomfortable journey.

I reckon it's a couple of hours later before the van finally stops. The journey's been stop-start all the way, so I assume that the traffic has been heavy. I'm not that bothered by little things like temperature and air quality, but even I'm grateful when the door opens. It's gloomy out there – or at least I reckon it would be if I hadn't been shut in the dark for hours. It seems to be some sort of a loading bay and the van's right inside, but there's little if any light coming through the clear plastic curtains at the door, and I get the impression that the road outside is narrow. The girls are arrayed around me, and the one called Lena takes the lead this time. No sign of the minder, but if this is home territory for them, then he could still be around.

"That way," she points with her crossbow towards a lift. If I really wanted to, I could do some serious damage to one, maybe two of the girls before the third had a chance to get off an accurately aimed bolt. If she's not that familiar with the crossbow, then I might even get out of this, but since the whole idea was mine in the first place, that's really idle speculation. I shrug, and, making a point of looking at ease, move slowly to the lift. The door opens, and I enter, turning around to find that the girls aren't planning on joining me.

"On my own, am I?" I ask. "Care to tell me which floor to press?"

"Down," the one called Lena replies. "You're going down."

I look, surprised that there are only two options on the panel - up and down - and press the button. The door slides shut, and the floor lurches beneath my feet.

When the door opens again, it's onto a tiled corridor. In fact, it's reminiscent of school way back when. Yellowish tiles to about shoulder height, one row of dark green, and cream painted brick above. The floor's wood block, and well worn. Whatever this place is, its décor is old.

I peer both ways when I step out, but there's nothing to the left, so I walk the other way, towards the steady heartbeat that I can hear close by. Three doors down, there's a light on, and when I go in, Giles is there - sitting at a desk in a bare, windowless room.

He looks steadily at me, before telling me to sit in the chair opposite.

"Well, Rupert. I must admit, I always pictured the Council of Watchers as being, well, a bit grander than this."

He purses his lips before speaking.

"As you may remember, the Council headquarters was destroyed by an agent of The First. Many good men and women died. The building was completely destroyed. This … building is a little known adjunct to the main offices. Its purpose was the scientific study of demons. It fell into disuse for many years, but has recently been invaluable as a centre for our operations until we were able to obtain more suitable accommodation. However, I'm sure the market in office space in London is of no real interest to you, so I suggest we get down to business."

I sit as requested, leaning as far back in my chair as I can. "So, what's with the 'just you and me' bit? Judging by the welcoming committee, you think I'm ready to go back to killing, but there you sit, bold as brass. What's to stop me having myself a little taste?"

"Spike, I am not afraid of you. Your posturing isn't even amusing. We both know that if anything were to happen to me, Buffy would find out about your involvement. I can guarantee that. And, while I can come up with a valid reason for your presence here, I don't think you could. I can also guarantee that without the appropriate authorisation, you'd never be able to leave this building. If there was one thing the Victorians knew how to do, it was build a secure holding facility for demons. So, do you want to spar some more? Or shall we get on with this?"

"I'm ready when you are," I answer, putting my hands behind my head.

"Right. So, why don't you start by telling me why you want my help?"

"I don't," I reply. "Last thing I want is your help, to be honest. It's just, this past year, well, it's been good. I know I helped Buffy and the rest of you, but the reasons for that, well, they were confusing."

"Didn't seem at all confusing to me," he comments. "You either wanted payment, or you wanted to start, and later resume your relationship with Buffy."

"No … yes … I don't know. Yes, at one time that was part of it, … most of it even, but … it was more than that. Last year, though, I didn't have anyone to impress. Angel? I really couldn't care less what that wanker thinks of me. It was mainly just … I knew it was right. You know. And it felt … good. If you ignore getting dusted, I'm going to live forever, and I've got to have something to do with my time. The demon needs a bit of violence, and the soul … needs to know it's doing some good. I'd like to be able to carry on with what I've been doing. Can't be in LA, though. I couldn't bear to see Buffy with Angel. Just the thought of it … Anyway. I need somewhere, and it seemed the right time to come home. Like I said, coming back here without letting you know … well, I don't have a problem with taking risks, but some risks are just stupid."

"That's never stopped you before," he murmurs.

"Ok, Rupert. Listen. I know you don't like me. I get that. Can't say you're on my list of favourite people either, but I can live with that. If you don't want me around, then tell me. I'll find somewhere else."

He sighs deeply, his glasses in his hand as he looks for a hankie to clean them. "Spike. I can hardly believe that I'm going to say this, but I've got somewhere for you. The only reason I'm helping is the simple fact that if I know where you are, I can do my best to keep Buffy away from you. And you're right. You're dispensable. Why should I put some innocent young girl out there when I can use you?"

"Right. So where am I going?"

He opens a drawer at his side, pulls out a thick envelope and removes the contents.

"This pack includes the standard paperwork for someone newly employed by the Council of Watchers. I've taken the liberty of obtaining a set of appropriate papers for you, matching the fake passport you already have, getting you a National Insurance number, fabricating an employment history and even opening a bank account for you. There are some forms you'll need to return to me, but you can take them for now and post them on when you're ready."

"Employed? I'm not sure I want …"

"What? You don't want the money? I find that hard to believe. Or were you just planning on robbing people and then eating the evidence?"

"No … I just thought … you know, that I'd charge people for helping them. Like Angel."

"It takes time to build up a customer base. What would you do in the meantime? No. I want you under my control. So, you'll be a Council employee, or you'll be on the run from every Slayer at my disposal. Do I make myself clear?"

I sit forward a bit. Posing's all very well, but sometimes it's just plain uncomfortable. Anyway, apart from the fact that it's the Council of Watchers, the idea of regular money is really quite welcome.

"To continue. You'll be paid at the rate currently accorded a Junior Slayer. I've also included keys to a small flat which is in a building owned by the Council. It's a garden flat, so sunlight shouldn't be a major problem, and the rent will be deducted directly from your pay."

"And where is this ideal little home for the undead?"

"Glasgow."

That's a surprise. "Glasgow? But that's not even in England!"

He ignores my outburst, just sits there and waits for me to speak again.

"Ok, so it's Glasgow. I can deal. Can't say I ever heard it was a big centre for demons, though."

"It isn't, at least, no more than any other large city. There are assorted demons there, but nothing that should tax your abilities too much."

"So why Glasgow?" I ask again. I know there's something he's not telling me.

"Because, as a side issue, I want you to do some investigating for me. As you probably know, the Coven in Westbury has seers who are able to sense the presence of Slayers. Their help in identifying the new Slayers around the world has been invaluable. Once identified, each one is then tracked until we can contact them. If they wish to be trained, they are brought to one of the training centres we have set up. If not, we continue to be aware of their location, but we do not contact them again directly. This latter group is large; many of them are older, and already have lives which they do not wish to change. Inevitably, some are sceptical and wary of us, despite the evidence of their increased strength. For their safety and the safety of those around them, we wish to be aware of their location, and we are working on ways to remove the special powers that they have. However, that is beside the point. The point is that there were three Slayers in central Scotland. One has had initial training, and the others refused our help. However, two weeks ago, all three apparently disappeared."

"You mean they escaped your control?"

"No, I mean they disappeared. They are all officially listed as missing. The Coven can find no trace of them. None of them knew either of the others as far as we know, yet they all disappeared on the same day."

"So you want me to find them?"

"If possible, yes. At the very least, I want you to find out what happened to them. Their details are contained in this report. For obvious reasons, I don't want a Slayer investigating this, and, if someone has managed to abduct three Slayers, then sending a normal human being after them would be extremely foolish."

I'm tempted to mutter a repeat of his, 'Never stopped you before,' but I manage to stop myself – well, at least I don't quite finish saying it. Giles glares at me, and then looks back at the papers in his hand.

He pulls a bound booklet from the bottom of the pile.

"Find these girls, and I may start to believe that your intentions are as altruistic as you'd have me believe."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter ****7**

**Los Angeles, 27 May 2004**

Giles started it, but Dawn was the clincher. He asked me if I'd like to stay in LA for a while. He's worried about the situation here – convinced that there're going to be some major repercussions from what he referred to as 'Angel's foolhardy attempt to take on the Senior Partners', and he wants me to stay around and keep an eye on things for him. I'm also going to be travelling around the country to, in his words, 'mentor' the new Slayers in the US. I met some of them in passing just after the battle, and I get the impression that that idea is theirs rather than Giles'.

I spoke to Dawn about it, and she talked me into agreeing. She wants to finish high school in the States, and after that, she'll be off to college so then I can pretty much base myself wherever I want to.

Giles has agreed that the apartment in Rome will still be ours, so I can plan to go back there when I want to, and he's going to supply an apartment in LA close to the office the Council maintains there.

Dawn's going to finish up this year of school in Rome, but she's going to come over as soon as she can, and in the meantime, she's agreed to pack up the rest of my clothes and send them over. Given that we're such different sizes these days, I actually hold out some hope that she won't 'forget' too much.

One side-effect of the decision is that I'm going to be working pretty closely with Angel. It stands to reason that any repercussions from recent events are likely to centre on him, and given his rather more vulnerable situation right now, he needs some protection. Not that I've told him that part of it – I can't imagine that would go down very well just now.

To be honest, I don't know how well Angel's adjusting to the changes in his life. He's spent the time since he got out of the hospital getting his hotel set up so he can get back to business. I've been helping with that – it's either that or he'd be on his own. We've removed Wes' library and anything else that might be useful from his apartment. The information from England is that his family isn't interested in his personal effects, but that his body will be returned to them as soon as all the paperwork's been completed.

There's still no news about Spike. No one's seen him or heard anything from him since the battle. I know I'm stupid to be holding out hope, but if there's one thing I've learned it's that in my world, dead isn't always forever. Despite that, I'm seriously thinking about the future.

As soon as I knew I wouldn't be going back to Rome for a while, I called Carlo. That was an eye-opener. I'd been expecting him to say something like, 'That's fine, Buffy. I'll see you the next time you're in Roma!', and what I got was the big freeze. I told him, and he just went cold on me. I asked what was wrong, and he threw back at me that I was going back to Angel. He didn't give me a chance to deny that - he just started telling me that having decided to go back to Angel, I was now beneath him.

I was shocked, and yes, I was hurt too. I've never imagined myself 'in love' with him, and I didn't think he was 'in love' with me either. We got on well, had a good time together, and I liked him. I thought he liked me. The things he said during that call, well, they hurt. He told me that he only put up with me because my reputation in the demon world as the Slayer who closed the Hellmouth made him look good. He also said that he only hooked up with me in the first place as a personal favour to someone at Rome's branch of Wolfram and Hart. I tried to get more out of him about that, but he was adamant that he had no involvement with anything else – it was just a favour, something he could barter at a later date. The plotting and scheming was all Wolfram and Hart. I told Giles anyway, and he said he'd look into it, but that the most likely motive was simply to keep me away Angel. I didn't tell Angel because mentioning Carlo to him is like waving a red cloth at a very angry bull, and it's not like he could do anything about it now anyway.

As far as demons are concerned, LA has been quiet. Andrew and his team of Slayers said the same thing - they hardly found anything in the day or two after the battle – just a few foolhardy vampires - almost as if the rest of the demon population has scuttled for cover. They left yesterday, dispersing to wherever they came from.

Gunn's still in the hospital, but he's improving every day, and hoping to be released soon. He's not going to come back to work right away, though, insisting that he needs time to think before deciding what to do with his life. I get the impression that Angel's a bit impatient with that attitude, but, given the events of last year, I can understand where he's coming from.

Illyria's based herself at the hotel too, but she's talking about leaving. She says she wants to experience the world, and last I heard, Gunn was thinking about going with her. They make an odd pair, and I can't help but wonder if they'll be able to get along well enough to cope with each other like that. Still, that's not my problem.

It occurred to me, while we were in Wes' apartment, that Spike had one too. Both Angel and Illyria mentioned it while they were recounting the run up to the battle, and, since I've known about it, I've wanted to see it. It's not that I expect to find some clue to what happened to Spike there or anything, it's just … if he's gone, I need to say goodbye somehow, and I'm hoping that seeing his place will help a bit.

I thought about asking Angel about it, but decided not to. Talking about Spike seems to irritate him to an unreasonable extent. Either that, or Angel will say something about Spike that irritates me. That's why I hadn't done anything about it until this morning, and then, when I found myself alone with Illyria for a few minutes, I took the opportunity. She seemed disinterested in my wish to go, but agreed to take me anyway, warning me that she didn't have a key. Well, that's never stopped me before if something's important enough, and, right now, it's important to me.

It's late afternoon before we get away, and as we arrive, I find I'm strangely nervous. I've been thinking about all the possibilities – yes, one of them is that he's gone and that I'll never see him again – but I thought that a year ago and, while I didn't actually see him, I could have. But he could be hurt, injured or something, could have lost his memory … or he could have just decided to run away. Now, that last one doesn't sound much like Spike, except, that's sort of what he was doing this last year, wasn't it? He kept away from me, despite what I said to him at the end. It might mean that he just doesn't care about me any more, or it could be that he just doesn't trust me not to hurt him again. That thought makes me sad all over again. I'm not saying I'd be ready to fall into his arms and head off into the sunset, but the last thing I want to do is hurt him.

Whatever. The apartment door doesn't present much of a problem, and we creep inside. Illyria stays close to the door, telling me she'll keep intruders at bay.

I take a look around the living room, and I've got to say, it's got an air of being temporary. Yes, there's a TV and a game console, but there's nothing … personal. His crypt was more homelike than this is.

I leave Illyria and check out the bathroom, but there's nothing much there, and then the bedroom. The bed is unmade – it looks like he left it in a hurry. The sheet's hanging off one side onto the floor. There's a closet and some drawers, but all I find in them are a couple of changes of clothes and a box with some unidentifiable bits and pieces in it. I'm about to give up, but as I turn to leave, I step on something. Fortunately, Slayer reactions are not only useful during a fight, so I realise before I damage it. It's hidden under the sheet, and I stoop down to uncover it.

I feel the smile start even before I've completely taken in what it is. It's the skull ring – the one Spike gave me during our magic-induced engagement. I slip it on my left hand ring finger, where it's too big, but it still feels like it belongs. With that, the memories flood back – being so certain that Spike was right for me. I've been in love a few times. There was Angel, and there was Riley too, but with both of them, I had reservations. Whatever the good there was between us, it wasn't perfect. With Spike, there were no reservations. Everything was just … perfect, and I so wish I could feel like that again. I know, it wasn't real, and it never could be real, because perfection isn't, but, well, a girl can wish, can't she?

I slip the ring off, but I don't put it down. It feels like it's mine, and if Spike's gone, then I don't know who'd have a better claim on it than I do. I put it into the pocket of my jeans where it feels bigger than it really is, and it's comforting because of that.

I go back into the living room and tell Illyria that I've finished.

"You care about the half-breed," she states. She has this way of talking where she's asking a personal question with an expression more appropriate for asking me the time.

"I did," I agree. "Or I do."

"You think he may have survived?"

"Not think, maybe more hope," I answer. "Why, have you heard something new?"

"No, nothing new. But you still hope. Humans are … interesting."

She leaves the apartment then, and I follow her outside, but she's walking in the opposite direction to the one I want to take, so I let her go. I need to get to the new apartment. I need some time alone. And then, maybe, once it's dark, I need to find a nice, spooky cemetery, and I need to hurt something. I just hope they haven't all been scared away.

There's a phrase that I've always felt was just too trite to be useful, but right now, it's running through my head like it's important. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, and I've got to get on with it. Whatever I've been doing this past year, it's not been what I thought. The time spent with Carlo wasn't moving on, it was moving back – to my teens. It was about having a good time without having to worry about anything but myself – all the things I missed out on while I was having to save the world. Now, I'm all grown up, and I've got to get on with the rest of my life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter ****8**

**London****, 28 May 2004**

There are a number of ways of travelling from London to Glasgow in comfort. There are regular flights, there's a train service, buses travel up and down the motorway, and cars can be hired. Most of those methods present problems for someone with an aversion to sunlight – especially at this time of year – but I suspect that Giles' reasons for choosing my mode of transport were less pure than they might have been.

That's how I end up in the back of that same bloody van for another ten hours. He left me cooling my heels overnight before I left too – down in that underground complex that seems like an old-fashioned version of the Initiative's warren. Yes, it had been cleaned up, and yes, the cells held desks rather than chains, but there are some smells you just can't wash away completely.

I spent the time before we set out trying to get some sleep. Not that it was comfortable. The similarities between that place and the Initiative kept me on edge, and the floor was hard and cold. I'm not easily scared, but memories of my time there, and of the results of the chip … they make my blood freeze. The Initiative left me helpless. I can take a lot – between Angelus and Dru and Buffy, I think that's obvious, but being helpless – that's different. When it was obvious that sleep was going to elude me, I read my way through the paperwork Giles gave me.

I pick up the file again as I sit in the van. Top of the pile are my own papers and details. The details he fabricated mesh with the passport I got in LA. William Sinclair - not my real name, but one I've used often enough over the years that it fits, you know? I'd have given myself a more interesting employment history though - Giles has me down as a bouncer in some unknown club somewhere, with a couple of other similar jobs in the past. Still, I'm making my own history now - I'm even sort of legitimate for the first time in over a century. You could say this is the first day of the rest of my life, but that would be too trite even for the poet in me.

The file on the girls is surprisingly empty. Oh, there are plenty of words; it's the facts that are thin on the ground.

There's a photo and some details for each of them. I read what's written, trying to flesh it out into a real person to go with the photo, but it's not easy.

The first one is the active Slayer, name of Fiona Walker. She's small and dark haired with fair skin and blue eyes - pretty little thing. She's seventeen, and lives with her parents in Glasgow - an area called Mansehill. She had a Watcher, a Gus Wilson, assigned to her, but there's not a lot about him here.

She was doing ok, by all accounts. She actually wanted to learn all about demons and such, and was studying when she wasn't actually slaying. She was a first year student at the University of Glasgow, and seemed happy according to everyone who was interviewed by the police after her disappearance. Of course, her Watcher is down as a private tutor in the police reports, and it looks as though they were looking at him as being responsible for her disappearance but couldn't find anything more than circumstantial on him.

The second woman is older. Jean McKenna's in her mid twenties, fair but not particularly memorable in appearance, and she's a teacher. She shares a flat with another teacher, somewhere in Stirling. She went to work one morning, left that evening, but never got home. There aren't any obvious suspects according to the police report on that one.

The third woman is older again. Morag Kirkpatrick is divorced and runs her own business in Glasgow. She looks like the archetypal successful business woman – smart, appears younger than the age would imply, snappy dresser too, judging by the photo. She's got some sort of import/export company as well as a small shop in the city itself. She must deal in some pretty exotic stuff since the police originally thought that she'd been abducted because of some shipment she'd recently received which contained some rare artwork. The police are still looking for a major crime angle on that one, but haven't come up with anything.

Given that the three women had nothing in common as far as the police were concerned, and the fact that the disappearances are being investigated by two different police forces, there's no link been made between them. I do my best to etch the three faces onto my brain. These are Slayers - like Buffy. No one gets to tangle with Slayers except me. Call it professional pride if you like, but that's just how it is.

The other bit of information I pick up is that the address of the flat Giles has picked out for me is the same as the business address of the Watcher. Seems the Council has given him a cover story - he's apparently the local contact for a company specialising in the procurement of rare books – it's called 'Watcher Rarities'. I wonder if it's a real company or just something to cover their activities. I mean, Giles had to be a librarian while he was Buffy's Watcher. I expect I'll find out, but the idea of being in the same building as a Watcher isn't exactly comforting news.

When Giles appeared again this morning, it was to provide me with a bag of much needed sustenance – pig and cold – before telling me it was time to leave. We took the lift to that same loading bay, and I quickly scanned the area but there was no sign of a big send off. I didn't see the driver – the engine of the van was already running, and Giles escorted me to the back and watched as I climbed in.

"It should still be daylight when you arrive," he informed me. "And the van will be parked in full sun. When it's dark, you'll be able to exit, but the driver will have gone by then. Here's a map of the city," he added, throwing one of those A to Z books at me. "You'll have plenty of time to find the flat on the map and plan a course there."

He closed me in then, and I heard him walk away.

The journey north is every bit as uncomfortable as I'd thought it'd be, and I'm relieved when the van finally comes to a halt. I know, by that instinct common to all vampires, that the sun's still too high, so I sit tight, away from the door just in case someone opens it from the outside. I needn't have worried. When I finally judge that I should be safe enough and open the door, the car park is deserted. It looks like an industrial park - small units doing everything from wrought iron work to baking pies - but it's late, and there's no one around. Giles had a post-it stuck on one page of the map he supplied and an industrial park circled, so I assume that's where I am, and I start to walk.

I get sidetracked, though. I mean, I never did get the chance to have a serious drinking session before I left LA. I know what I'm like. Enough to drink and I'd do something that'd get me noticed, and it's hard to seem like you're dust when someone remembers seeing you. Times like that the blond hair is a distinct disadvantage, but I'm not about to change it.

You know, I don't think I'd have taken to drinking so much whisky in California if the beer'd been better. First stop, I have myself a few pints of heavy. Now that's good stuff. Pub was owned by the brewery, though, so once I'd tried what was available there, I move on and find another owned by a different brewery.

By the time I'm in the fourth pub, I seem to be making friends. One local, a big chap with a red face who goes by the name of Mac, decides that, since I'm obviously not local, I need someone to look after me. I try to persuade him that I don't, but either the beer's affected his hearing or he doesn't understand my accent, because he doesn't take any notice. When the pub finally closes at midnight, he drags me on to a club nearby, somewhere with hours extended beyond the normal, and there we have a few more pints, this time accompanied by whisky chasers, and when we finally leave, I'm having problems walking in a straight line. How he's managing it, I have no idea. He insists on walking me to the flat, telling me it's not out of his way – at least I think that's what he said. It's just as likely he thinks he's going to crash with me, but I'll cross that bridge later. Besides, he's able to show me a short cut which isn't on the map. That might be because it involves crossing some gardens – I'm not too clear on that.

On the way, Mac's trying to teach me the words to a song, and I join in, just to show him I'm not too drunk to pick up on what he's saying. After a while it becomes a contest of sorts – and we lurch along vying to outdo each other in volume.

When we finally get to the flat, I'm finding it difficult to stop the road from moving under me, and … I suspect that might be the whisky chasers I had on top of the beer in that last place.

As we reach the building, and while I'm looking for a way into the lower level which tallies with the address I've been given, my companion decides it's a good time to fall asleep. He's slumped against the wall, and then he starts to snore noisily. I take one look at him, check he's ok, and then turn my attention back to getting inside.

I find the door - it's at the back of the building - and fumble in my pocket for the key Giles gave me. Once inside, my bag is dumped by the doorway, and I go back outside to get Mac. I drag him inside, and, after a quick rummage through my memories of the habits of drunk humans, decide to make up a bed of sorts in the bathroom which has the joint benefit of being a room I won't need for a bit, and having no carpets or other things that will retain a smell when the inevitable happens.

I check around the flat, eventually finding the bedroom. There's a bed with pillows and blankets but no sheets. I grab one of the blankets and go back to cover Mac where he's lying, oblivious to the world, and still snoring fit to wake the dead. It occurs to me that that doesn't bode at all well for me – something I find oddly funny.

Satisfied I've done what I can, I go into the bedroom where I fall onto the bed, relieved to have the opportunity to lie down at last. At least the world doesn't spin quite so fast that way. Closing my eyes makes it even slower.

It's not long before I'm wakened by someone banging at the door. That's followed by the sound of a key in the lock. I sit up quickly. Vamp constitution being what it is, I'm feeling a lot steadier, even though I know it hasn't been that long since I lay down. I get up cautiously, alert, wondering who's got a key.

Of course, as soon as I see him, I know who he is. He might be wearing jeans, but he's got the woolly jumper and glasses look to go with it, and, of course, he's got a cross held high in one hand, and a stake in the other.

I relax when I see him; human I can deal with.

"Watcher," I greet him. "To what do I owe this … intrusion?"

"Spike, I assume," he mutters, the cross remaining between us.

"The one and only, but you haven't answered my question."

"I had a call from one of the neighbours. She told me someone had broken into the flat dragging a dead body. And that before you killed him, you were both singing 'Flower of Scotland'."

"Dead body?" I ask, glancing in the direction of the bathroom from which the sound of snoring hasn't decreased in the slightest.

"So, he's not dead yet. Keep out of my way while I see to him."

I step backwards, allowing him access to the bathroom. It's obvious that he's not going to believe I haven't been snacking unless he can see it for himself.

He takes Mac's pulse, and checks his neck for puncture wounds, but of course, he doesn't find any.

"Where?" he asks, looking less confident, but still with the cross between him and me.

"Where did I bite him? Don't they teach you that any more? There was a time that part of Watcher training was a crash course in the major arteries of the body. What's his pulse like? Not that I don't know, I can hear his heart from here, and it's a damn sight more healthy sounding than yours right now."

He looks even more confused at that, so I take pity on him. Of course, if all his information on vampires comes from the Council, it stands to reason that he isn't going to work it out on his own.

"I haven't bitten him. Not a taste. Met him in a pub on the way here, and he thought I was too puny to look after myself. Walked me here then promptly passed out, so I brought him in, just in case something else wanted to snack."

"You expect me to believe that?" he asks, looking at me. "You've got a victim here, incapacitated, and you haven't been tempted?"

"Tempted? Yeah, well, that's different. It's what you do with the thoughts, though."

"You seem remarkably recovered if you've been drinking with him," he mutter, his tone sarcastic.

"Well, vamp constitution. We heal faster than humans, and that goes for the damage caused by alcohol. It's a blessing and a curse." I sigh melodramatically at that. It just seems appropriate. He doesn't notice. I give up and turn my back on him.

"Anything to drink in this place?" I ask, moving towards the room that seems to be the kitchen.

I don't wait for an answer, but when I get to the kitchen, I quickly check out the cupboards. To tell the truth, I don't really want any more to drink - at least, not like that. I do find a jar of coffee sugar, and some teabags, and there's an electric kettle. I check out the fridge, and there are a few containers filled with something red. I take one out, sniff it cautiously, and get the clear scent of pig's blood.

I hear him coming up behind me, so I turn to meet his gaze.

"You got this?"

"Er, yes. Mr. Giles suggested I should get some in so you wouldn't have any … excuses when you arrived."

"And the tea and coffee?"

"I had some car trouble a couple of months ago - used to crash down here rather than going home late. It's left over from then."

"Want a cuppa?" I ask. I have to say, I'm impressed. From all raging righteousness, he's gone through confused and straight to making some actual sense remarkably quickly.

"Coffee, please," he answers. He doesn't look happy, but I'll settle for the fact that he puts the stake away although the cross is still in his hand.

I put the kettle on and find a small saucepan for the blood. There's no microwave, so that's one purchase I'll have to make soon. I open another cupboard and find a small selection of mismatched crockery, among it, a few mugs.

One's a souvenir of the Queen's silver jubilee in 1977, so I take it out and spoon some coffee into it.

"I'll keep that one for you, if you like," I offer. "I know you humans are a tad squeamish about drinking out of mugs that've had blood in them. That and, well, it doesn't seem right, drinking blood out of that."

I pick out another one – the plainest of those remaining – just dark blue - and take it to the stove where I pour the blood into it. When the kettle boils, I add water to the coffee granules.

"No milk, so it'll have to be black. Want sugar?"

He shakes his head. Funny, I get the feeling I've worried him more by offering him coffee than I would have if I'd made a lunge at his neck.

I eye the cross disapprovingly, and he tightens his grip on it.

"Put that bloody thing down," I tell him as I put the coffee on the small table by the window. "And sit down."

To my surprise, he does as he's told. I sit opposite him, and sip at my blood. I try to remember what Giles' file said about the Watcher, but I don't remember much.

"So, you know me, how about you introduce yourself? Or do you want me to call you Watcher?"

"Wilson, Gus Wilson," he says, putting the cross on the chair beside him nervously.

"Well, Wilson, Gus Wilson, I'm pleased to meet you." I offer him my hand across the table, and he accepts it, shaking it before he realises what he's done. That's what I love about good, well brought up humans. Give them a social signal like an outstretched hand, and the brain doesn't get involved at all – it's instinctive.

He moves his hand away fast enough when he realises what he's done, and I can't help smiling at the reaction.

"You been a Watcher for long?" I ask.

"Two years," he says, obviously meaning that he's not green, while the same words mean exactly the opposite to me.

"I see. Where'd you study?"

"I did my degree in Classics here at Glasgow, then spent a couple of years studying other, less well known, languages in the States, then came back here to study with the Council."

I study him as he speaks. He's tall, slight, fair-skinned, with reddish fair hair. His eyes are pale blue, and have that 'rabbit in headlights' look about them.

"And Giles has no doubt told you all about me," I offer.

"I've read the Council records on William the Bloody," he agrees, "and Mr. Giles has given me some of your more recent history."

"Then you know I've given up on eating people."

"He said that you appeared to have given up killing, but that I wasn't to trust you."

"Ok, I can live with that for now. But if we're going to work together, you're going to have to trust me eventually."

He yawns then, and I feel pity for him. He should still be somewhere safe, researching and reading and whatnot. He's not fit to be out in the real world, but I don't think Giles has too many options these days between the increase in Slayer numbers and the fact that so many Watchers are gone.

"Go home to bed," I tell him. I think we'd both be better for some sleep. "When do you get into the office?"

"Nine thirty," he answers.

"Ok. Sometime after that, I'll pop upstairs. You can fill me in on what's what happening around here."

I stop then, waiting for a reaction, but then I remember something. "That's assuming you've got curtains or something up there."

"Yes, er, I've got blinds," he answers. "And the back staircase is enclosed."

"Better and better," I agree.

I drink the last of my blood, and stand. He follows my lead, and picks up the cross before walking to the door. I suspect I've turned a few of his preconceptions on their heads, but I think he'll be easier to work with than Giles – maybe even as promising as Wes, albeit without the experience. I push away the reminder that Wes is gone. Feeling the loss of humans isn't something I'm equipped for, so I just do my best to ignore it.

He walks up the stairs, but before I hear any engine starting, there's a scream. I run after him, and spot him running in the direction of an alley across the road. I follow him, catching up quickly, and then I hear another sound, more of a scuffle this time, and overtake him.

Some kid – he's got a knife - and it's at some poor girl's throat. He sees me coming, and his first reaction is just to talk his way out of it.

"Just go back where you came from," he says calmly. "You don't get involved here, you don't get hurt."

"I like the part about not getting hurt," I reply, continuing to approach slowly and taking in every aspect of the situation.

Gus chooses that moment to run up behind me. The knife wielder tenses at that, taking in the two of us.

"One step closer and I'll cut her throat," he mutters.

"Oh, good," I say, allowing my face to change. "That'll just make things easier for me."

His jaw drops at that, and there's a split second of indecision before he drops the girl and tries to run off. It doesn't take too much effort to get a foot in his way, though, and he falls headlong on his face. I sit on top of him, just holding him enough that he's not going anywhere. He's gibbering a bit, and he seems to know some swear words that I don't, but he's stuck and he knows it.

Gus watches me, waiting for my reaction, but I let my face revert. The vamp face was just for the purpose of scaring him - something I used to great effect when I was first chipped. It might not have got me a meal, but it kept me out of a fair bit of trouble. Once Gus seems sure that I'm not going to take advantage of my situation, he approaches the girl, who's almost hysterical with fright, but otherwise seems unhurt. He pulls a phone out of his back pocket and presses 999, explaining the situation. I had hoped he wouldn't feel the need to do that. Involving the authorities just makes things difficult, and I'm sure that I could have scared him out of his bad habits if I'd had the chance. Pretty soon, there's a police car and an ambulance on the scene. The girl's taken off to be checked over, and the low-life that attacked her is removed to the nearest police station.

By the time the police finally leave, it's fast approaching dawn, and I've had to agree to give a full statement later in the day - but at least they've agreed to come to Gus' office for that. They haven't been able to interview the girl, and all I've said is that he lost his bottle when he saw the two of us, and tried to run for it. If the girl remembers anything, I'll just suggest that the lighting's pretty bad in the alley, and that she was rather distraught. Pain as they could be, at least the police in Sunnydale weren't liable to go looking too closely into things that could possibly have a supernatural bent. I'm not so sure that'll work here.

Gus doesn't say a lot before he leaves. To be honest, I think he's just too confused to know what to think, and that's probably a good thing for now. Whether I like it or not, I'm going to have to work with him. Truth is, I think I could get to like him. He's intelligent, that much is obvious, and, while he's green, he seems willing to accept things a bit more on trust than Giles ever has. All in all, I reckon he could work out well - with the right sort of guidance.

When it's all gone quiet again, I lock the door to the flat behind me and find my way back to the bed. I'm half asleep when I realise that there's something wrong, and it takes me a moment to realise what it is. It's too quiet. In all the excitement, I'd forgotten all about Mac. I jump up, suddenly worried that he's choked or something, and run to the bathroom. The blanket I put over him is still there, but he's gone, the only reminder of his presence the puddle of foul-smelling mess that trails across the floor towards the toilet. I can only assume he slipped away while I was outside. Maybe the sirens and flashing lights permeated his stupor, I don't know. Still, if he could get up by himself, then I've got to assume he'll be ok. I decide to ignore the puddle for now, opening a window and closing the bathroom door in the hope that the smell will have stopped turning my stomach by morning.

With that, I go back to bed, settling myself as comfortably as I can, while promising myself that, first thing chance I get, I'll buy myself some sheets and a nice, cosy duvet. I may be room temperature, but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy a bit of comfort.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Los Angeles****, 31 May 2004**

Neville got a call a couple of days ago telling him that there was some unusual vampire activity up just outside Seattle. The information came from a Slayer he met last year but who's not been active. Well, given that she was seventy when she got her dose of Slayer power, it's not too surprising. Since I'm currently the closest active Slayer, I quickly agreed to go up and see what was happening. To my surprise, Neville decided he should come along too, and a few hours later, he and I were on a plane.

We arrived at Mary Jacobson's house to a very warm welcome. She actually apologised for bothering us, and refused to hear of us staying at a hotel. She had a bedroom organised for each of us in no time. Yesterday, she took us to the area that's been having problems, and later, when we'd seen her safely back home, Neville and I searched the area and found their nest. To be honest, dusting them was a bit of an anticlimax, but sometimes that's how it seems.

When we got back to Mary's, she was apologising that she didn't do the job herself. To be honest, it's scary. I mean, yes, she's strong, and by all accounts her arthritis is much better than it was, but she's not fast enough to go up against vamps, and she hasn't had any training.

What's even scarier is what having her powers has done to her. She's scared to get close to people. Her husband died a few years ago, and her children live on the east coast, but she's got people around she's known all her life, and she's scared she's going to hurt someone when she tries to hug them or shake their hand. She's even more scared of how some of her friends would react to her increased strength, so she hasn't told any of them. She's more alone than she's ever been, and that's because of something I did. No, I don't regret it, because the alternative – the First succeeding in filling the world with ubervamps and whatever else it had in mind? Really not a good idea. But I never guessed that people like Mary would be hurt by what we did.

The other side of all this is that Mary didn't want us to leave. I don't mean she wouldn't let us out the door or anything, it's just that she was bending over backwards to try to get us to stay a bit longer. We spent a lot of time just chatting, and it seems like it's the first time she's been able to just be herself in too long.

In the end I left her my cell phone number, telling her to call if she needs to chat. And first thing on Monday morning, I'm going to call Giles and find out what progress has been made in finding a way of relieving people of these powers. Giles wanted to find a way in case we come across someone abusing the power, but neither of us seriously saw the disadvantages the strength could be to some people.

I suppose that's part of the reason the Slayer system called teens – at least at that age you can adapt to the changes. The older you are, the harder that must get.

And, spending a couple of days with Neville has been interesting. He wanted to be there to 'back me up' when I went up against the vampires, but he didn't get in the way, so it wasn't a problem. In fact, he turned out to be good company. He's travelled widely as a Watcher, and while he's almost as British as Giles about things, he's also quite a bit younger – I'd estimate in his early thirties – and I found I was able to be quite comfortable with him. He dropped me at the apartment a little while ago, and I almost thought he was going to ask me for a date. I was half disappointed and half relieved when he didn't. Disappointed because it's always good to know that someone finds you attractive, and relieved because right now, I really don't need more complications in my life. I've got an ex who's keen to take up where we left off, another who's made it clear that I never mattered to him anyway, and another who's possibly gone for good without saying goodbye. Last thing I need is another addition to the devastation that is my love life.

It's late Sunday morning when I waken, and I'm just revelling in the fact that today's mine to do with as I please. I've already slept late, and I'm enjoying a second cup of coffee while I decide what to do next.

Naturally, when I'm glad to have nothing specific to do, I get a call. I pick up the phone to hear Angel's voice.

"Buffy, good, you're back."

"Yup," I agree. "How's things?"

"Well, ok, I suppose. Look, I've got a job – something strange happening in a warehouse about five miles from here. The owner's someone I've dealt with before, and if he says it's something supernatural, then I'm inclined to agree. Stuff's been going missing from the warehouse, but it's not the valuable stuff – he imports electrical goods from the Far East. What's going missing is the packaging – boxes, crates and bubble wrap. And food. He says his security and handling crews are complaining that someone is stealing their food."

"That sounds … wait, Angel. There's something stealing packaging and food? Are you sure this isn't just a job for the police? Or social services? Maybe it's some homeless person."

"Could be," Angel agrees. "But he's had extra security on the place, and nothing's been seen. He wants me to look into it."

"And?" I ask, not sure where this is going.

"And I was going to go tonight. I was wondering if you'd like to come. Not that I'm expecting anything heavy, it's just, well, you never know."

I'm not sure how to take this, but I decide that face value is about right. I certainly don't want Angel out after dark alone and maybe getting himself killed.

"What time?" I ask.

"Well, I thought, maybe seven? You could come here, and I'll get some dinner, and then we can go over and see what's happening."

Dinner. I spot the ulterior motive, but that's ok. I can eat dinner with an old friend without it meaning anything.

"Sure, Angel, that's fine. I'll see you at the hotel about seven."

He hangs up, and I go back to contemplating my day. Decisions. Do I take a shower now and then go shopping, or do I go shopping and then shower before I go to the hotel. I decide on the former, with the possibility of showering afterwards too if I feel inclined.

Some hours later, I make it back to the apartment where I unpack my purchases. I've spent more that I should, but it's been a while since I've been able to hit some of these stores, and I just couldn't resist. And, in honour of tonight, I've bought some new leather pants and some rather pretty t-shirts that I won't break my heart over if they end up slime-splattered.

I check the time and realise that I've only just got time to change before I have to leave, so I move into overdrive, getting myself ready for dinner and then potential Slaying.

As soon as I walk into the hotel, I know something's up. Well, Angel's never been exactly a slouch when it comes to dressing, but tonight he's … not dressed for patrol: black silk shirt and some very smart pants. I feel totally underdressed in comparison, but I decide to make the best of it.

He ushers me into the hotel dining room where there's a table set for two. There are candles and a choice of wine.

"What?" I ask, bewildered.

"It's nothing," he says quietly. "I just ordered in some things from a restaurant around the corner. The others used to like it, but it gets crowded, so it seemed better to do things this way."

I'm smelling trouble, but it's overpowered by the most amazing aroma emanating from an adjoining room. All I've had since this morning is a cup of coffee, and my stomach is making embarrassing noises. Angel sits me down, offers me wine which I refuse since I try not to drink and Slay. That's one lesson I learned from, or perhaps because of, Spike. As happens lately, thinking about him causes a spasm of sadness, but I push it aside. Angel walks towards the source of the aroma and returns a few moments later with plates, each with some soft, melty cheese covered in caramelised onions and a dark fruit sauce. He sits opposite me, and we start to eat, while Angel asks me about my trip, and fills me in on what's been happening in LA. Foremost among the news is the fact that Gunn and Illyria have left on their tour. They flew to New York this morning, and the plan is that when Charles is well enough, they'll get a car and drive back, taking any route that appeals to them at the time.

As far as his work is concerned, things seem to have been slow. When I ask, I get the distinct impression that the warehouse job he mentioned on the phone is the only one that's come in. He seems rather defensive about that when I ask, so I give up that line of conversation, and Angel goes to bring in the next course.

The main course is steak, braised in a sauce which is absolutely out of this world, and flavours I almost, but don't quite, recognise.

I give up talking then, and content myself with savouring every mouthful, while Angel looks on, an indulgent smile on his face. I don't like it, but I'm not going to let anything get in the way of this meal.

When he announces dessert, I quickly tell him that I couldn't eat anything else if I'm going to be Slaying later. He seems disappointed, and if I didn't know better, I'd have thought he was suggesting we forget about the warehouse for tonight. He quickly backtracks from that though, suggesting that it'll still be here after we've been out, so I just let it go. He takes me to his office where he offers me the choice of an impressive range of weapons. Naturally, I came already armed – nothing big, just a few stakes and a small knife - so I decline the offer. He disappears to get changed, and returns a few moments later more suitably attired.

On the way over, in order to make conversation, I ask him how he's doing.

"Ok, I suppose. It's … odd. I've got an appointment tomorrow to have a full physical – the doctor who treated me after the battle suggested it. Can't say I ever gave it any thought when I was alive before, and as a vampire, well, you're either ok or you're dust. Not much to think about."

"That's good," I comment. "You should get everything checked out – not that there's going to be a problem, but, yeah …"

"Yeah."

I try to remember what we used to talk about before, but I can't. Well, yes, we talked about the vampires and the day to day stuff. I told him about how unfair it was that I had to slay vampires and still take a bio test next morning, and he … listened. We talked about how we loved each other, how neither of us could imagine a future without the other one. It didn't seem hard then.

I'm relieved when Angel pulls the car over to the kerb and we can get out. This is Slaying, so I'm back on home turf. He's parked a block away from the warehouse, and he points out our destination. We walk slowly, and as we move, my senses are keyed to my surroundings, feeling for any hint of demon.

There is something, but it's not giving me any real information. Not that that means anything. Vampire I recognise right away. There're one or two others that give a clear signal that's different, but many other species just give the general tingle I'm feeling now.

As we get close to the entrance, I push ahead of Angel. He's about to disagree, but I glare at him, and he holds back. The main doorway is locked as it should be, but we continue round the building towards a fire escape at the side. That's also locked, so I continue my circuit of the building. I'm not at all averse to breaking in if I have to, but I'd kind of like to know how whatever-it-is is getting in.

I spot it at last – behind a bush that's growing along the wall, there's a brick lying lose. I crouch down and take a look – several bricks have been dislodged. The resulting gap is big enough for me to get in, but I'm not sure about Angel. He takes a look and nods, telling me he'll be ok. I bend down and edge through the opening. Once inside, I stand carefully, taking in the space around me. There's no immediate sign of anything out of place, but I decide not to move from here until Angel makes it through.

He does that a couple of moments later, but he's huffing a bit and rubbing dust off his jacket when he joins me, muttering that it was a tighter squeeze than he'd thought. I move forward, listening carefully. There are stacks of pallets to the ceiling, numerous places where something could hide, but I follow the tingle, moving slowly along the wall towards the back of the building.

I hear it first. It's a squeaky sound, something rubbing on something else, and I quicken my pace towards it. Angel stumbles behind me, and the noise stops, to be quickly followed by the sound of something heavy being dropped, and then silence again. Giving up on any idea of being stealthy, I run to the source of the noise, and find several electrical appliances neatly arrayed without their packaging. A DVD player, still partly cocooned in polystyrene, lies on the floor. There's no sign of whoever was responsible. I follow my instincts, winding my way through stacks of pallets, round and round the warehouse, catching a glimpse of something bluish and almost transparent ahead of me before I lose it.

Confident that it's gone, I call out for Angel, but he doesn't reply. I go back to where I left him, but he's not there, and I check a few passageways without success. What I do find is that there's a door open now that wasn't before, so I approach it, and peer outside to see Angel being surrounded by a group of vampires.

"Hey, Angel, didn't you know it's not polite to start without me?" I ask, moving towards the group while taking note of my surroundings.

"What can I say, Buffy? Sometimes, there's nothing you can do."

The words sound like Angel, but the voice doesn't. He's doing a pretty good job of sounding relaxed, but anyone who knows him would recognise the undercurrent of fear that's there.

I imagine for a second facing these vamps without my Slayer speed and strength, and I understand how he's feeling. That same thought causes me to consider how often the others – Willow, Xander and Giles – did just that, and my admiration for them goes up just a notch.

"Do you think it's possible they don't know who we are?" I ask Angel, trying to steel him for what's happening while giving me a second or two longer to plan how I play this.

"Looks like it," he replies. "But then they're young. Hardly brushed the dirt from their clothes."

The vamps bristle at that, and one of them, judging by the way the others are watching him, the leader, answers. "Do we know who you are? No. But then, you're human, so you're food, or entertainment. That's all we need to know."

"And here I thought you were our entertainment," I say, making a lunge at him.

It all explodes around me then, and I'm fighting, legs and arms aimed at the various vamps, while I'm trying to keep an eye on Angel and how he's getting on.

Perhaps because I attacked their leader, most of the group is concentrating on me, which is just as well. I'm not in any real danger, though. I'm dancing a complicated choreography that's being written as it's performed, dictated in part by the movements of my opponents. (Another lesson from Spike, and again I push the thought aside.) One by one, I manage to get a stake into their hearts, kicking or punching them out of my way between times. Soon, though, they realise that Angel's the weak spot, and three of the remaining vamps surround him, quickly overpowering him.

The leader stops moving and just watches them for a moment before speaking.

"A Slayer, are you?"

"Took you long enough to work that out."

"Don't think a lot of a Slayer who brings her boyfriend along," he teases. "Unless he's bait. Is that it?"

"He's not my boyfriend," I answer. "And he's not bait either. You, on the other hand, are dust."

I move as fast as my speed and training allow, and he's turning to dust a second later, a look of shock on his face. I turn to the others, but one of them's already got his fangs in Angel's neck, and the others are watching me warily.

"Let him go. Now," I warn.

Two of them, having just seen their leader disintegrate, step backwards, looking for a means of escape. I ignore them for now, approaching the third who's feeding. He realises too late that he's being singled out for my attention, and he's gone too, my stake delivered accurately from a distance. The others take that moment to run, and I ignore them, catching Angel as the vamp who was supporting him dusts.

I pull a hankie out of my pocket and hold it to his neck wound. Typical of neat vamp bites, it doesn't keep bleeding hard once the fangs are gone. I think Giles said something once upon a time about there being something in vampire saliva that did that – makes it easier to keep a human for a long time, drinking just a bit each time.

I'm facing him, one hand providing some pressure on his neck, and my other hand on his upper arm. It seems a familiar position in many ways, and Angel obviously feels that too because the next thing I know, his mouth is moving towards mine. I turn my head away, hoping he'll take the hint, but he doesn't, moving towards my neck and kissing me there in a way friends just don't.

I step backwards, away from him, and he looks at me in surprise, and then I see a flash of – was that anger? Irritation? But then the look is gone, and he's just looking like some poor, pale human who's had a chunk bitten out of them by a vamp.

"Let's get you to the car," I suggest, not mentioning what just happened. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I should say something, but … between our history and the closeness while I was seeing to his injury, maybe I did give out the wrong signals. I look around at the door I just came out of.

"Who unlocked the door?" I ask.

He doesn't speak, just hands me a key. I take it and lock the door before turning back towards the car.

On the way back, I fill Angel in on what I saw in the warehouse.

"I didn't recognise what it was, but it wasn't a vamp. It got away. I'd say it's not dangerous, and if your client can get his extra back door sealed up, he might be ok for a while. Meantime, I'll check out what I saw against Council records, see if I can suggest anything else."

He doesn't answer, and when we get to the car, I take a closer look at him. It doesn't take a doctor to spot that he's in shock. His face is looking clammy and he's shivering a bit.

"I'll drive," I offer, and it's a sign that he's not feeling well that he just hands me the keys.

I open the passenger door and he gets in, then I move around to the driver's door. It takes me a couple of minutes to get the seat moved far enough forward, but Angel doesn't seem to notice. He's staring out of the window, maybe at his own reflection, maybe at the blank wall beyond. I start the engine, and drive back the way we came.

"Do you want me to take you to the hospital?" I ask. I don't think he's lost that much blood, but it depends on how he feels.

"No, the hotel," he answers. "I'll top up with fluids when I get in and I'll be fine."

"Good," I agree. "Get some antiseptic on that wound too."

"Yeah. I've done this before. Don't fuss."

I ignore the irritation that's obvious, putting it down to embarrassment that he no longer has the strength to get himself out of situations like that. I remember the suggestion that we have dessert later, but I'm really not in the mood and hope he doesn't mention it.

When we get back to the hotel, I stop the car, but it's only when I point out that he's home that he seems to notice.

"Ok if I take the car?" I ask. "I'll bring it round in the morning. The Council office's only a couple of blocks away."

He nods, murmurs an affirmative, gets out of the car and walks towards the door without a backward glance. Once I'm sure he's inside, I start the engine again, and drive to my apartment.

I think Angel's got a lot more acclimatising to do than he'd thought, and for the first time I consider the possibility that continuing in his previous line of work might not be the best idea.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Glasgow****1 June 2004**

The police interview went as well as could be expected. It was almost fun watching Gus squirming at the questions he was asked. It seems they've got him in mind for the Slayer's disappearance despite the lack of evidence, and think it's just too much of a coincidence that he was around this time. Still, they didn't exactly go easy on me either, wanting to know all my details. Fortunately, Gus was able to explain that Rupert had hired me and that I'd just arrived from London, although I fully expect that the police calling him to corroborate our stories isn't going to endear me any further with him.

They didn't tell us anything much about the girl either beyond the fact that she was shocked but otherwise unhurt - as if we didn't already know that. If she noticed anything odd about me, then the police didn't mention it. As for the attacker, they've just said that he was high on something so I assume that anything odd he said has been attributed to that.

The news that the police were on their way came courtesy of Gus who knocked on my door around eleven. I hope he doesn't feel it's an established habit to waken me that way – I'd much rather just get up when I'm ready.

I threw on some clothes, and went upstairs to the office. As promised, the stairway is covered, although there is glass at about eye level all the way up, so I had to crouch awkwardly. I'll have to do something about that, paint the glass or something, but I'll worry about that later.

The main level of the building was rather different to the one I'm going to be living on. The building was once a grand house which has been divided up. The main entrance is shared between the Council office – also known as Watcher Rarities – and a firm of solicitors. Upstairs, and entered only from the back, are a couple of other offices – one housing some surveyors and the other a property management agent, or, as they're known around here, a factor's office. The basement is split between two flats. The one I've got was used by the last Watcher they had here, but it's been vacant since Gus took over. The other looks occupied, but I haven't seen anyone yet.

The original house must have been really something. High ceilings, huge rooms, and, on the main floor anyway, elaborate cornicing and centrepieces. The flat's not really a basement, more what they call a 'garden flat'. Not sure how they got that name, but at the front, the windows are at ground level, so the floor is below ground level, but you enter from the back of the building with just one step up. It's actually not bad at all – it's got some character that I should be able to work on.

No sooner have the police gone, than someone's knocking on the door – almost as if they'd been waiting for them to leave. Gus opens the door and immediately becomes a different person. And no, I don't mean magic.

He seems uncomfortable as she comes in and looks pointedly at me.

"Ah, Mrs. McConnechie, it's always good to see you," he fawns.

Mrs. McConnechie is old in a way that I'll never be. Her skin is wrinkled and her hair is white. She's not quite five feet tall, and there's not a lot of her, but she's got a presence that's almost overwhelming. She shakes her head at Gus, and her expression softens, although I doubt Gus spots that.

"Son, don't ever get yourself into a position where your life depends on you lying, because it'd be a shame to get killed so easily. Now, who is this?"

"This," he manages after just a short hesitation and with a rapidly reddening complexion, "is William Sinclair. Rupert Giles has employed him to help me on some … current concerns."

"Current concerns? You mean the disappearing Slayers. So, what's your background, Mr. Sinclair?"

I glance at Gus, unsure how much I should tell her.

"Mrs. McConnechie knows all about the Council. Her late husband was a senior Watcher, and she's very knowledgeable about Council practices."

"Ok, then. Well, I've just come from Los Angeles, but before that, I was working with the Slayer at the Sunnydale Hellmouth."

"Ah, I see," she says softly, but her concentration on me seems to increase for a second, then her attention snaps back to Gus.

"Tell me why you've got all the blinds closed in the middle of the day. You should open them and switch off the lights. The Council's not made of money, you know," she says disapprovingly, and moves to the nearest window.

"Mr. Sinclair is … allergic to sunlight," Gus says quickly, moving to stop her.

"Is he now?" she asks, looking back at me. "Surely a little sunlight through glass couldn't do any harm. I hear that the ultraviolet's all absorbed by the glass."

"I assure you it's not a good idea," I offer, ready to dive for cover if necessary.

"So, why don't tell me who you really are, then, vampire?"

Somehow, I suspected I couldn't fool her.

"William is my name, although more people know me as Spike. Council records have me as William the Bloody."

"Angelus' get," she says, her eyes darkening. "I've heard about you. You've got a soul, I hear."

"Yes."

"Cursed with it, were you? Like Angelus?"

"No, I bloo … I earned it."

"Rupert doesn't like you, does he?"

"No, but then I'm not too fond of him either."

"That opinion doesn't do anything to help you here. Rupert was … very close to my husband. Duncan was a mentor of sorts to Rupert Giles in his youth."

"Yes, well, imagining Rupert Giles in his youth is just about beyond me. He's so stuck in his ways that …"

"Enough! I know Rupert. He's extremely loyal to those he loves, and if he sees you as a threat to one of those, then I can see that he could be … short-sighted. You're the one who stalked his Slayer."

"I loved … love her."

"Then why aren't you with her? I heard you'd been destroyed closing that hellmouth in Sunnydale. If you're still walking the earth, why aren't you with her?"

"My reasons are … personal. And the story of how I got here is sort of involved."

"It can wait. I wanted to know what the police said. Is this about the murder?" This question is directed at Gus, and I get the feeling I've just been dismissed. And, of course, the penny drops. This is the woman who called Gus to tell him about my singing.

"Mrs. McConnechie, there was no murder."

"No murder? Of course there was. Saw it with my own eyes. That blonde chap …"

She looks at me again, and her posture stiffens.

"It was you, wasn't it?"

Gus moves to stand between us, unable to get her attention otherwise. "There was no murder. And yes, it was William you saw. The other man was drunk, but he walked away from here under his own steam."

"It looked like …"

"I know how it must have looked, but I checked the man myself, and he was alive."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

"So, why were the police here then?"

Gus then explains last night's events, and I just sit there watching the woman as she takes it all in. To be honest, she's taking all this remarkably well, and I'm surprised.

At last she seems satisfied that she knows what's happening. She stands up, ready to leave. Gus tries to usher her to the door, but she avoids him and comes back to stand in front of me.

"Just so you know, I'm not afraid of you. And if you wake me with your dreadful singing again, I can guarantee that you'll be sorry."

Her finger's wagging in my face as she speaks, and it's all I can do to keep a straight face. She notices.

"You're not taking me seriously, are you? That's the problem with you youngsters." She pauses then, her eyes narrowing as she thinks of something. "But then you're not a youngster, are you?"

"No. Compared to me, you're the youngster."

She smiles at that, a genuine smile that changes her face so completely that I can see the girl she once was, and I'd guess she was a stunner.

"Gus is afraid of me, and I'd like to keep things that way," she says quietly in my ear.

"You're a very … surprising lady," I answer, equally quietly.

"While you hold no surprises at all."

I look at her, wondering what she means, but she turns and leaves the office.

Gus looks at me when she's gone, obviously desperate to know what she said to me. I pretend I haven't noticed.

"So that's my neighbour, is it?"

"Er, yes. Mrs. McConnechie sort of comes with the place. She's actually our landlady. The house has been in her family for some time, although it was divided up into flats before she was born. Apparently, her will stipulates that the Council will inherit it when she's gone.

"Must be worth some money, then."

"I'd imagine so – I've certainly never had the impression that she's counting the pennies. I think she just lives there so she can keep up to date on what's happening. Officially, Duncan McConnechie was the Watcher, but I think she was every bit as involved as he was."

He pauses for a moment, then adds, "I thought she'd be furious that Mr. Giles sent a vampire up here. I hoped she wouldn't realise that's what you are, but I should have known she'd work it out. Still, she seems to have accepted you."

"Yes, that surprised me," I admit. If she's got a background with the Council of Watchers, I'd have thought she'd be in the 'stake now, ask questions later' group.

Gus seems to have got over his wariness of me – maybe it's that 'shared adversity' thing, or maybe it's Mrs. McConnechie's influence, but either way, he doesn't seem to be in a hurry for me to leave, so he puts the kettle on and pulls out a tub of chocolate digestives.

"Giles told you about the Slayers, then?"

"Yeah. I think his main reason for sending me here is to keep me out of the way, but the Slayers thing was an added incentive. He knows I've always had a thing about Slayers. Of course, it used to be that I wanted to kill them, but not any longer."

"I've heard a bit about you – a vampire who chose a soul. I know Buffy's involved too, but not the details, although I'd love to know more about her. She's a legend, really, although Mr. Travers considered her dangerous."

"Oh, she's both. More dangerous than anyone I've ever met, but a legend too."

"And you got a soul for her?"

"That's … personal. Maybe I'll feel like talking about it some time, but not now. For now, all you have to know is that she's in my past. What about your Slayer? I've read your report, and the police reports Giles had on file, but I'd like to know what happened, well, first hand."

"Fiona. Yes, she's … a very bright girl. Strong too even though she's just a wee thing. I hoped … she'd be around for a long time. Glasgow's not really a hotbed of demon activity, and with all the Slayers around just now, she wasn't in danger of being sent somewhere else. That night, I was supposed to meet her. There'd been a rash of 'animal attacks' over on the south side – four in one week. All of them were buried in the West Manse Cemetery, close to where Fiona lives, and we suspected they would be rising soon. We'd agreed I'd be there at eleven, but the phone rang as I was leaving, someone working for Giles who needed to get some information from me from some books that're kept here – they belonged to Duncan McConnechie and he wanted them kept in Glasgow. Anyway, while I was faxing over some pages, she was there alone. I was half an hour late, and when I got to where we'd agreed to meet – just outside the cemetery – she'd gone. I assumed she'd just been impatient, so I went inside, looking for the newest graves. I found them, but they all seemed to be undisturbed. I thought I heard something – it could have been an animal – fox or something – further over, so I went and had a look, but there were some headstones overturned, and the ground was all churned up, like there'd been a fight. I searched the whole place, but there was no sign of her, and when I tried to call her, I found her phone lying there in the middle of the churned up ground. I called the police, but they weren't interested in what I was saying. They kept telling me that a young woman like her wasn't likely to be spending her nights walking around a cemetery. I showed them what I'd found, but they just said it was vandals, and they took me in for questioning. As far as her parents are concerned, I'm someone who's been helping her with her Latin. When they found she wasn't in bed … I think they think I'm involved too. Giles was able to confirm that I was tied up on the phone when I said I was, and they haven't got any other evidence, so they had to release me. They warned me to keep away from the cemetery, though – said they'd take me snooping round there as obstructing their inquiry, so I haven't been back. Then I heard that the other two have disappeared too …"

He looks miserable.

"Chances are they're still alive. If someone was killing Slayers, I think we'd have heard."

"You think so?"

Poor boy's looking at me as if I've just done something amazing. I can't help but wonder why Rupert didn't tell him the same. Then again, maybe he's assuming he'd know.

"Maybe I'll head out there after dark, take a look around," I suggest.

"But the police …"

"Haven't said anything to me about not going there. And I might spot something you humans'd miss."

He seems relieved at that – almost grateful. Fortunately, at that point, the phone rings, and while he's talking, I take the opportunity to go back downstairs.

I'm no sooner in my flat when there's a knock on my door. I open it to find Mrs. McConnechie. She doesn't wait for an invitation, just walks in. I wonder if she's related to a certain Slayer.

"William, I've decided to help you."

"You're going to help, are you?"

"You might be older than me, but you've yet to grow up. Now listen. I don't know what you're used to, but I'd bet being stuck inside until ten at night is going to make it hard for you to do anything useful."

"Well, I was going to get a car," I offer.

"Sometimes a car can be a liability in a city. Come with me."

Not having any idea what she's doing, I follow her. There's a covered area at the back of the building which leads to a small, three-sided structure which houses some bins. She leads me there, then points to the bins.

"Move them outside," she commands.

I'm starting to consider the idea that she's not all there, but I do it anyway. To my surprise, behind them, there's a loose flagstone. She tells me to lift it out of the way, and I do. Underneath, there's a metal trap door in the ground, and she produces a key which unlocks it.

"There's a tunnel down there. My grandfather used to call it 'the secret cellar' but he would never tell me what it was for. It's been empty for many years, but I believe that it should afford sewer access. Perhaps that would be useful?"

Useful? Who's she kidding? "Thanks, Mrs. M," I answer.

"Oh, stop that. If you're older than me, then you can call me Moira."

"Thanks, Moira."

"Right. Now, make sure you find out what happened to those Slayers."

"Rupert wouldn't be happy about you trusting me like this," I suggest.

"You're absolutely right, but then I'll have to be a lot older and more infirm before I'll be taking advice from him."

She hands me the key, then turns to leave, but stops, turning back and putting a hand on my arm. "A word of advice from an old woman?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Don't leave it too late. I don't know this Slayer of yours, but Rupert does. And if he's that set on keeping you from her, then he believes she really cares for you. Your love … well, I saw it in your aura when you spoke about her. I saw your soul too, saw your intent. Sometimes love brings the most unlikely people together. I know. Duncan was from a long line of Watchers. Me? Well, let's just say there're some witches in my background, and not all of them were whiter than white. The Council didn't approve of me, but Duncan held his ground. I won them over in the end. I have … abilities that have proved useful. A bit like you, really."

She leaves me then, and by the time I've taken in what she's just said, she's gone. I turn back to the opening, and stuff the key into my pocket. I take a look into the cellar, then drop down.

It's a large room – completely dark apart from the little light that's coming through the trap door. The floor below is made of flagstones, and I just stand there for a moment, getting my bearings and trying to listen for any clues.

I have to vamp out to see anything, but once I do, I find the room bare, although there are some unwholesome-looking stains on the walls. There's the sound of running water in the distance, so I follow that sound, and, in the corner, there's a large grill. It's rusted in, but I give it a good pull, and it comes free. What do you know? Mo was right. I've got sewer access. Right now, that's of limited use, since I don't know my way around above ground yet, but with a bit of research …

I go back to Gus' office, and ask if he's got any sewer maps. He looks at me as if I'm crazy, but offers that there might be something online, and points at the computer in the corner of the office.

It takes a while, but at last, I'm in possession of maps of the Glasgow sewer system – or at least the Victorian parts which cover the city centre. Then, I try to find a map of the city itself, and spend some time trying to marry the two together. Some time during my efforts, Gus decides to go home, asking me to lock up before I leave.

When I've got all I can, I realise that the sun's about to set, so I lock up as requested, then go down to the flat for some sustenance while I consider what to do. A spot of violence would do me good, and, remembering Gus' story about the Slayer, I decide to go and take a look for myself.

The cemetery where Fiona was snatched isn't that close. It's on the south side of the city and it takes me a while to get there. It's a pretty standard municipal cemetery – big - and with rows and rows of stones, many of them going back quite a long way. I'd assume that it was here long before the houses that now surround it, but I find my way to the part that's currently in use, and it's not long before I find my first mark. A lone vamp is loitering by a grave, no doubt waiting. I'm itching to have a go at something – it's been too long – so I just launch myself in there.

The result is … disappointing. You forget, you know, that the vamps attracted to the Hellmouth include some of the strongest around. Oh, there are idiots there too, but you get a higher proportion of the old families than elsewhere. Here? There's no real competition among vamps and the result is a fight that is over too fast even though I try to make it last. When the other one starts to crawl out of his grave, I don't even try to make a fight out of it, just wrench his head off before he gets too far.

Following Gus' description, I search for the area where he saw signs of a fight before, and I find it without difficulty. The headstones are still down and I search the area for anything useful. I know the police will already have done that, but then they won't have been looking for the same things I am. And Gus? Well, maybe he was looking for the right things, but he's just human, and he's never been back in daylight having been warned off by the police.

I'm just about to give up when I spot it. I'm not even sure it's real at first. There's a faint luminescence on the underside of one of the grave stones – so faint that I doubt a human eye would pick it out. I fish in my pocket and search for something – and come up with a pen knife. I scrape the stone and see some of the luminescence transfer onto the knife. I wrap the whole thing in a piece of paper I picked up somewhere, and put it in my pocket.

Now that I know what I'm looking for, I find a couple of other samples of the same stuff, and I duly take samples on other blades of the knife before I run out of time. I really need to get myself a car.

I'm pretty sure I know what it is, but I'm surprised at how little I've spotted. If I'm right, and it's Fyarl mucus, then someone's done some cleaning up.

I barely make it back to the flat before the sun's too high. Once inside, I decide to sleep for a bit before sharing the news with Gus. And my next priorities are setting up a blood delivery and getting myself a car.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 – ****Los Angeles****1 June 2004**

I was up early this morning, and went straight into the Council office to check out our packaging-and-food thief. I got onto the database, and after some searching, found what I was looking for. Judging from what I saw, and what little I know about its habits, I reckon it's a Vidazul demon. They're completely non-aggressive, and, in fact, normally avoid all contact with humans. They prefer to live in remote areas – preferably deserts – and their normal food consists of reptiles and insects, although if Angel's report of them stealing food is right, then they can manage on human-type food too. In fact, they're normally just about invisible. There are reports of them being visible on occasion, and someone suggested that might be during their mating season, but, due to their reputation lacking anything remotely worrying, information on this species is pretty limited. I don't know what it's doing in LA, but I can only assume that it's looking for nesting supplies – assuming that it nests.

Once that's done, I call Giles. It's late in the day for him, but I'm not surprised to find him still at his desk. I give him my thoughts on the past few days and tell him about the problems Mary's had as a result of her 'gift'.

"It's not the first time I've heard that," he admits.

"And you didn't tell me because?"

"Because it's a minor consideration. To be honest, it's only come up twice before, and we are working on putting it right."

"Only twice?" I ask. "But surely it must be more common than that."

"Of course, many of those we contact don't really believe what we say. Others are afraid and don't want to get involved with us at all. Many of them might feel the same way but be reluctant to actually contact us."

"Great. You mean I managed to wreck countless lives with my bright idea?"

"Hardly countless lives. The Slayers we've discovered so far are strictly numbered. And you had no alternative to what you did."

"I know, but …"

"No buts. I'm just relieved that the power only manifests fully after puberty. I did have nightmares in the first few months of infants injuring their parents."

"That could have happened?"

"It was a possibility. Certainly, under the traditional system, only young women were called, but there was no guarantee that younger children wouldn't be affected when we were forced to change the rules."

"So, how's the research going?" I ask. "You know, taking the power from those who don't want it."

"Slowly," he admits. "We could remove it from all the new Slayers – that would just be a reversal of what we did before. Choosing which Slayers to revert? That's much more complicated, and we're no further forward."

After that call, I sit for a while, just thinking. So far, there's been no sign of retribution from the Senior Partners, and, in fact, things in LA have been very quiet – eerily quiet, I suspect. Neville's in his office, and I stop by to pass a few minutes with him – just filling him in on what I found last night, then I leave to keep my promise to Angel to return his car.

When I arrive at the hotel, the main door's locked which is surprising since that's the entrance I'd expect customers to use. While it's normally locked at night, it's always been opened when I've been before.

I go round to the back entrance, and find that it's open, so I go in, calling for Angel as I go. That way takes me through the kitchen, where dirty dishes from last night are still lying in a pile just inside. I continue in, through the dining room and out to the foyer and still there's neither sight nor sound of Angel. His office door's open, so I take a look inside. I'm not expecting to find him since he hasn't answered me, but it occurs to me that he said he had a doctor's appointment this morning, and I'm hoping to find a time for that on his calendar.

What I find is rather different. Angel's there, passed out on the floor. If it wasn't for the presence of several empty wine bottles and an open whiskey bottle, I'd suspect he'd been attacked, but when I get close enough, the olfactory clues are enough to confirm that he's drunk.

I shake him while calling his name, but he's so far gone he doesn't even seem to notice. I give up on him for a moment, and go to his desk to check the time of his appointment. That's for eleven thirty, which means he's got an hour and a half. There's a water jug and a glass on the side, and I decide to go for the cliché. I pour a glassful and throw it over his face. He splutters but comes to, arms flailing and trying to get at his assailant. Of course, with the benefit of my superior speed, he misses by a mile.

When he finally focuses on me, his first response is to growl at me.

"What d'ya do that for?"

"I tried shaking you, but it didn't work."

"Didn't try very hard, then," he complains, trying to sit up.

"And why'm I here? And what're you doing here so early?"

"It's not early, and I came to return your car," I respond, as evenly as I can. I've never seen Angel drunk before, and to be honest, it's not pretty.

He shakes his head again, looking for a second like a dog after a bath, but quickly changes his mind as he winces in pain.

"What happened?"

"I wasn't here, so I can only go by the evidence," I explain, lowering the volume of my voice when he winces again. "But I'd say you drank yourself into a stupor last night and passed out."

He seems to consider that for a moment before shaking his head.

"Doesn't seem likely," he mutters, finally managing to sit up properly.

I shrug. Right now, I really don't care how likely he thinks it is. "You've got an appointment in," I check my watch, "a little over an hour. I think I'm going to go and put on some coffee, and you should probably have a shower."

"Shower," he repeats. "Yes, good idea."

"You want some breakfast?" I ask as he lurches towards the door.

The face that turns towards me to reply has taken on a slightly green tone, and he just whispers a negative before going on upstairs.

I go into the kitchen and quickly find the makings for coffee. Then I turn to clearing up last night's debris. There isn't a lot really – I'd guess the food was delivered in disposable packaging, so it's just the plates and silverware which don't take a long. The surprise comes when I go to dump the trash – it looks like Angel's been living on delivered food, and there's evidence that last night's drinking spree wasn't his first, although it may have been the heaviest.

I get that being human after a couple of hundred years of being a vamp is going to take some getting used to, I really do, but I don't see that alcohol's going to help when he's already down in the strength, speed and coordination departments. I just wish there was someone else here who could talk to him, but the others are either dead or gone off on vacation for an indeterminate time.

I take the coffee pot back to his office, then change my mind – the smell in there isn't noticeably better for Angel's having left the room. I take it back out to the main desk. I'm half way through my first cup when Angel appears. He does look a lot better, but his eyes obviously belong to someone in pain.

"You got some aspirin around here?" I ask.

He shakes his head, then thinks again. "The doc gave me something after I got hit on the head. Haven't used them all – they're probably in the top drawer of my desk."

It's an inexplicit request that I get them, and judging by the way he fell into that chair, getting up again isn't something he's going to be doing in a hurry. I pour him some coffee, then go back to the office. There are two top drawers – one on the left and one on the right. I pick the left one first, and don't find any pain-killers, but I do find a photo of someone I don't recognise – blonde and smiling and very attractive. I put the photo back, feeling guilty that I've somehow been snooping, and open the other drawer. There I find a foil pack of pain-killers which I take back to him.

He's pouring himself another cup of coffee when I get back, and I hand the pills to him. He swallows a couple and sits back down again. I check my watch, and mentally estimate how long it's going to take to get to the doctor's office.

"You need to leave soon," I offer.

"No problem," he answers. "Where's the car?"

"Angel, you can't drive."

"Buffy, I'm feeling fine, honestly. Well, I've got a headache, but that's no reason not to drive."

"When did you have your last drink, Angel? Because I'd guess if they tested you now, you'd still be over the limit."

He looks at me as if I'm stupid.

"Seriously, Angel, you're not driving."

"Just give me the damn keys," he growls at me.

"I'll drive," I offer. "I'll leave the keys when we get back."

"Buffy," he says warningly. "Just give me the keys. Or …"

"Or what? I'll call a cab if you like, but I'm not giving you the keys."

He looks for just a moment as if he's going to argue some more, but his shoulders slump, and I know I've got him.

"Just don't make a habit of this," he warns.

"What? Looking after my friends? News flash – it's already a habit."

"No, I mean trying to mould me to what you want."

"There is no moulding going on here. I just don't want you killing some poor joe out there and then having a guilt trip about it."

He shakes his head, obviously still thinking I'm over-reacting, but right now, I don't care.

"You ready?" I ask.

He doesn't answer, just gets up and walks towards the door.

As he locks the back entrance, it occurs to me that I should talk to him about leaving it open last night, but I get the distinct impression that's not going to go down too well, so I leave it. One battle at a time, and with any luck, once he's recovered from the shock of last night, he'll realise that he's not going to be able to repeat last night too often or he's really going to feel the effects.

The drive is uncomfortable. Whatever else he is, when he's not distracted by a near-death experience, Angel's not a good passenger. If he pushes any harder on the floor beneath his feet, he's going to go straight through.

We finally get to the doctor's office with just five minutes to spare. Angel checks in with the receptionist who announces, "The doctor will be with you soon. Your wife is welcome to help herself to coffee while she's waiting."

Angel looks bemused for a moment, but I just shake my head. I don't want to get into a discussion about Angel and me, and I don't want another coffee anyway.

The exam takes longer than I'd expected, and when he finally emerges, Angel's looking even worse than when he went in. I try to make small talk on the way back, but he just mutters something about test results in a week and then goes back to wincing when I overtake a truck. When we finally get back to the hotel, I make a point of handing him the car keys, then go to walk back to the Council office.

"Not coming in, then?" he asks, apparently surprised.

"I was going to go and check in with Neville," I answer.

"Oh, Neville," he parrots, his tone distinctly unfriendly.

"Yes, Neville. I work with him. Ergo I need to communicate with him. And that's where I'm going now."

"What if there's a job? Something urgent?"

"Then you can call me," I answer, keeping my tone even. "Oh," I remember. "That demon last night? Harmless. Probably looking for nesting material. Vidazul demon from what I found. Tell your client to block up the hole, and suggest he leave any spare packaging material outside somewhere it's not going to get wet if it rains. Give it a couple of weeks, it'll probably leave anyway – LA's not really a good place for it."

I turn and walk away then, wondering if I should stay and talk to him. Seems to me that he's still hungover, and now he's been prodded and whatever by the doctor, it's not the best time. But it'll have to be soon. Something tells me that if I don't sort things out with Angel quickly then it'll get unpleasant. I thought I'd made it clear that I wasn't ready to jump into a romantic relationship with him again. If I haven't, then I need to, because the way he's acting just now even being his friend is proving more difficult than I'd thought it would be.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 **

**Glasgow, 8 June 2004**

It's been a busy few days. Once I'd told Gus about the Fyarl demons, and quashed the panic caused by his Watcher training being limited to the fact that Fyarls are big, strong and very violent, he seemed more hopeful. I pointed out that they're often used as hired muscle, and that if they'd wanted Fiona and the rest dead, there'd be so much blood around that there's no way I'd have missed it. Of course, he then insulted me by insisting on having the samples sent to London so they could be checked out, but I bit my tongue. He's come a long way from his junior Giles impression that first night, and I don't suppose it's fair to expect him to just trust my judgement without corroboration.

Anyway, once that was done, I turned my attention to setting myself up in my new home. I found out where Gus got the blood, and it turns out that, for a regular order, they're willing to deliver, so that's one less thing to worry about. I managed to get to the bank and change my stash from LA into pounds. While I was there, I arranged to have internet access to the bank account Giles set up, so I don't have to worry about being set alight during banking hours.

I reckon I've got just enough to buy myself a car and some black paint for the windows. Scuppered again by the long daylight hours (and only another two weeks until they start getting shorter again) I became a pretty much permanent fixture in Gus' office checking out what's available on the net. And that's where I fell in love.

Well, maybe not. That's when I could see the potential. If you're looking for a classic car, there's not much more classic than a Jag. And there, among the dross, was a 1987 Jaguar XJS convertible in a green so dark as to be almost black. I managed to persuade the owner (who's in Glasgow) to let me take it for a short test drive late at night, and that's when I fell in love.

By then, the auction was down to its last two days, so I put in my bid, and I've spent the time since then biting my nails and irritating Gus with my frequent visits upstairs to check the status. In an effort to get out from under his feet, I did spend some of the time checking out the other Glasgow Slayer's shop. In a nice spot of serendipity, it's actually located underground at one of the stations on the subway. Getting there was easy, and I was pleased to note that it was open.

I spent some time looking around, interested in seeing for myself the sort of merchandise that she carries, and for the most part, I was disappointed. Apart from some rather rare and potentially powerful crystals - they were flawed, and therefore of less value - most of it seemed to be rather uninteresting. Her assistant, who I did manage to chat to, has been opening the shop each morning, but couldn't really tell me anything I didn't already know about Morag's disappearance. She worked late the night she disappeared, but the shop was found locked up the next morning, so it's assumed that she left there as normal. There was no sign that she had ever reached her home just two miles away. Her car was found parked outside her home and the best guess is that she'd been taken from the street. I did go and take a look last night, and the fact that no one heard anything actually makes a bit of sense.

The road where Morag lives only has houses on one side, and on the other, there's a high hedge and fence beyond which is the Botanical Garden. It's a pretty nice neighbourhood, and, like a lot of central and west Glasgow, it was built in Victorian times. When they built then, they built substantially. They used stone blocks and the walls are very thick, and now, with the addition of replacement windows with double and triple-glazing, they're pretty much sound-proofed – especially if it was very late at night, because most of the residents would have been at the back of their homes rather than in the front-facing public rooms.

There's nothing in common with the scene at the cemetery – and it's unlikely that this Slayer would have fought the way Fiona did, untrained and all – but search as I might, I couldn't spot any Fyarl residue. In the end, I had to cut short my search since one of the neighbours came home, looked suspiciously at me, and then peered out of a front window, checking up on me, so I left before he decided to call the police.

And, now, this morning, I'm again wakened by Gus hammering on my door. I stagger up, pull on a pair of jeans, and open the door, not even bothering to wait for him to speak, just turning my back and walking into the kitchen. He follows me, and I know he's eager to share something with me, but since I know that the auction on my car's not over for another hour, I doubt it's going to be as interesting to me as it is to him.

Once I've put on the kettle, and set my blood to warm – still no microwave, must do something about that – I turn to face him, wondering what's got him so excited.

"They've found her!" he exclaims as soon as he catches my eye.

"Who? Who've they found?" I ask, trying to remember if I was drinking before I went to sleep. I decide that, no, I wasn't, but that it wasn't very long ago that I went to bed.

"Jean. They've found Jean." Ok, I was wrong. It is important.

"Well, got to hand it to these witches. Where is she? Are we going to mount a rescue?"

"No, you don't understand. The Coven hasn't found her. In fact … no, the police found her. She was in Dumfries, wandering around, apparently lost her memory."

"So, what, she just turned up and they recognised her from a missing person report?"

"Sounds like it. Her parents are driving down to the hospital there to collect her."

"So why didn't the Coven pick her up? They were supposed to be keeping a look out for her, weren't they?"

"They were, but then, they were looking for a Slayer."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've spoken to Giles, and he's been onto the Coven. There aren't any Slayers within fifty miles of Dumfries. If she's there, then she's not a Slayer any more."

"You mean someone just took away her Slayer powers?"

"Looks like it. From what Giles said, the other Slayers seem fine, so it's just her – or maybe her and the others who were taken. We'll just have to wait and see if they turn up too."

I think about that for a moment while I make Gus some tea and pour my blood. If someone's gone to all the bother of kidnapping three Slayers, only to let them go again without their powers, it stands to reason that they've got something to gain from it. I remember last year, when Angel became a puppet. And how funny was that? That's one story I must tell Gus some time. I just wish I had photographs. Anyway, those demons, they had that 'nest egg' thing – they were storing what they stole from the children in it. What if someone's able to store Slayer power, or maybe just keep it for themselves? It's bad enough there're Slayers turning up willy-nilly all over the world with the accompanying danger of some of them being less than altruistic in the use of that power, but to have someone able to steal it – someone who was never meant to be a Slayer? That's scary.

"How do you know?"

"Giles rang. I don't know how he found out – I assume the Council monitors police reports or something."

"I always suspected the Council had official recognition – even if the ordinary folks've never heard of it. So, what now?"

"Well, unless we get more from Giles, then all we can do is wait for Fiona and Ms Kirkpatrick to reappear."

"Yeah," I agree. I suppose it's logical that they'd reappear soon – unless this one girl managed to escape or something. But surely, it'd be Fiona, the one active Slayer in the mix, who'd be most likely to escape.

Gus is nervous, and it doesn't take vamp senses to work that out.

"She'll be fine," I reassure him. We both know that I don't know that, but there's no doubt who I mean. The other two Slayers are names to him – Fiona's, … well, he knows her.

The tea seems to have its expected calming effect on Gus, and when he's finished, he goes back upstairs and leaves me to shower and get ready for the day – even if it's starting earlier than I'd have liked. By the time I get upstairs, it's almost time for the end of the auction, so I sit at the computer, and check the status.

And at last, there it is – my car, and I've got it. Bloodyawfulpoet gets the car. I grab the phone off Gus' desk and call the seller, arranging to be there later tonight with the cash, and immediately start to consider where to take it for a run. Maybe even take the boy with me – take his mind off things.

It doesn't take me long to realise that I'm not welcome in the office. Gus is working on some very big words in some even bigger books, and I've got too much energy to sit still. I go downstairs, intending to consult my maps and plan a day out underground, but as I get to my door, there's Moira at hers, and she invites me in.

"Hope you don't make a habit of inviting vamps in," I say, following her inside.

"No, I can't say I do," she answers, making for the kitchen. Her flat is a mirror image of mine, so the lay-out is obvious. The state of decoration is different, though. Where my flat has the bare essentials, hers is crammed with a lifetime of possessions.

She makes a pot of tea, and then ushers me into the living room. There, there are photos all around, and I take a look, wondering if I'll recognise anyone. Apart from one photo of Rupert and a couple of other young men I don't know, the one that attracts my attention is of an older couple, standing together and smiling. It's obviously Moira, and, I assume, her Duncan.

"That was taken on our fortieth wedding anniversary – just two weeks before he died," she informs me, and I turn to see her eyes misting slightly. Instinctively, I put a hand on her arm, and she covers it with her own hand before shaking it off impatiently.

She gestures at me to sit, and she sits opposite. Despite the cup of tea she put in my hand, I feel like I'm about to be interrogated.

"Tell me about her," she demands, without preamble.

"Her? Who?"

"Your Slayer. I know how fond Rupert is of her, and I know she's achieved a lot since she was called, but I want to hear your story of her. Tell me everything."

And to my utter amazement, I do – not the expurgated version I save for when I've had to discuss her before, like with Fred – this is the whole story, the whole moving from stalking her through reacquainting myself with human values, to realising that the chip alone wasn't enough. I know I could stop if I really wanted to, I'm just not sure I do. I tell her everything, even the bits I'd prefer to forget, and even though I know she's somehow directing me, making me talk, I don't resent it. It actually feels good – sort of like I needed to sort through all of it, but I would never let myself.

When I finally get to the present day, I stop, and the compulsion to keep talking falls away. Moira has been sitting, giving complete attention as I spoke, and now that I've finished, she smiles.

"Thank you, William. I'm sorry I had to give you a nudge, but I sensed that you needed to talk, and I very much wanted to hear the story. Having said that, I couldn't have made you talk if you'd resisted. If you feel I've overstepped my … rights, then I apologise."

"Not going to make a habit of it, are you?" I ask, my voice suggesting more irritation than I actually feel.

"Not unless I feel it's important," she answers. "For what it's worth, I think you were wrong to let her think you were gone. She deserves to know that you're alive, and to choose her future for herself. You've denied her that right, and while I understand why you did that, I still think you were wrong."

"And now I've burned my bridges, because if she finds I'm alive now, she'll really hate me."

"Perhaps," she answers. "But then, if she can't forgive, then she can't truly love. But enough of this. I hear one of the Slayers has reappeared, minus her strength."

"Yes. Her parents are bringing her back. I don't know where they live …"

"Edinburgh," she answers for me. "They'll take her there, I assume, until she's recovered. Rupert's arranging for someone to visit the hospital in Dumfries before she's discharged, to try to find out what happened to her."

"Not much point in that if she's lost her memory."

"Not much point in an interrogation, I agree. But he's going to send someone who can try to discover the source of her amnesia, and see if there is any mystic involvement in the matter. It will be quite painless for the child, I assure you."

"Not sure it's ever painless having someone poking around in your brain."

"It is if you're unaware of it, and I would trust Rupert to choose someone who would not abuse their gift."

"Oh, right, because Rupert's so straight down the middle these days, isn't he? Not about to try some ducking and diving if it'll get him what he needs."

"Sometimes he has to, I know that. But I also know that Rupert would only do that if he felt he had no choice."

"Yeah, like setting me up to get staked."

"I … did hear about that. But, from Rupert's point of view, you were getting in the way of Buffy making the right decisions. He felt justified, and he suffered a great deal of guilt when you proved instrumental in the defeat of the First."

I could argue some more, point out that I didn't see any guilt when he was arranging my new life, but I haven't got the heart for it. Moira's going to defend Rupert to anything I say, yet she's managing to do it without outwardly criticising me, so I suppose I'll deal for now.

"Is there somewhere around here I can get some black paint?" I answer her, completely changing the subject.

She looks bemused for a moment, and then gasps in shock.

"You're not going to paint your flat black, are you? I mean, … it'll be so difficult to get rid of …"

"Relax, Mrs. M. It's for my car windows. I've bought myself a car, and I'm picking it up tonight, but I'll need to black out the windows so I can drive it in the daytime."

"And how long do you think you'll get away with that before the police stop you?"

"Oh, I think it'll take a while. The windows on my new baby are so heavily tinted that I doubt anyone'd spot the painting unless they're looking for it."

"You really have adapted to the human world, haven't you, William? And I do believe I told you to call me Moira."

"I know you did, but I think Mrs. M. sounds better – unless you'd really prefer Moira."

"My first name has a certain … formality about it. I can't say that anyone's ever called me Mrs. M. before, but it has a nice, friendly tone to it, so by all means."

"Thanks for the cuppa," I say, getting up from my chair. "And the chat. It'll give me some things to think about, but I reckon I'm stuck with my decision. If I go and contact Buffy now, I think Rupert'd have me staked right quick, and I don't think I'd have the heart to take on the Slayers he'd send after me."

"If you decide to tell her, just leave Rupert to me," she promises, and I leave her flat feeling lighter than I went in.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter ****13 – Los Angeles, 8 June 2004**

I stayed away from Angel for a few days. I know I shouldn't have, but last time I saw him, I felt cut in two. The part of me that I know, that I think of as being me, was annoyed at him, convinced he was being stupidly childish. On the other hand, the part of me that I thought had long gone, the part of me that'll always be sixteen, remembered Angel from when he was someone I could rely on for anything, someone who made me feel safe in a world populated by monsters. I thought that part of me had died at the hands of Angelus, but it seems it was only hidden, waiting to be resurrected by the feeling of being needed by him in turn. He does need me; I know that. But he thinks he needs me as a partner, while I don't think that's right for us now, or, maybe, ever. He's part of my life and always will be, and if he needs me, then I'm going to be there for him for as long as I'm able. I just need to be strong, and not allow myself to be dragged into something that's liable to end in tears. It makes me feel silly and immature that I didn't go back the next day and sort things out with him, but there were some things to do at the office, and then we had a report from Giles of something that needed investigation. The Coven is still, apparently, turning up Slayers occasionally. While doing whatever they do to find them, they spotted something odd over in Orange County, and Giles wanted me to do an initial investigation.

What the coven spotted was an anomaly in the force or some such idea, and let me just say that I really don't appreciate the Star Wars metaphor at all. I suspect Giles has been spending too much time with Andrew. Anyway, they couldn't explain what it was, talking about a negative energy. I thought that meant some sort of bad energy, but that wasn't it at all. It's as if the whole world has this background energy level, and then there are hotspots – areas of higher energy. The Hellmouth was one hotspot, full of bad energy; the area around the Coven is another except that energy is somehow healthier. The sort of energy, good or bad, isn't important for this analogy, and the place they identified had an energy level lower than background.

What I found was a perfectly normal-seeming residential area with homes and schools and businesses and nothing out of the ordinary in terms of police reports or anything else I could spot. Of course, the area did have a lot of money around, but it's not exactly unique in that respect. I spent a day there, just looking around, checking out the local area, then hit the cemeteries last night, but all I found were a few bedraggled vamps that I dispatched without breaking sweat.

And now, I'm up to date on paperwork, and I've reported what I didn't find to Giles, and he's going keep the area monitored. And I've run out of excuses not to check in on Angel, so I head round to the hotel. I thought about calling, but after the way I found him last time, I decided to just turn up, take him by surprise, and if he's out on a job, then, I'll have had a wasted journey.

I call out from the front door, and Angel emerges from his office. He smiles and looks pleased to see me which is good. At least he's not bearing a grudge. He invites me into the office, and there, spread out on his desk is a large tome, so it looks like he's working.

"How's business?" I ask.

"Slow," he says, with a slightly crooked smile. "Seems some of the old clients wanted to do business with a vampire, but they're not sure what a common or garden human can do for them."

"It'll pick up. It might take a while, but there're enough demons in this city that your kind of service will always be needed."

"It'd pick up a whole lot sooner if I had a Slayer on the books, officially. Telling them I can bring a Slayer onto the case isn't the same."

"Angel," I start, convinced that he's going to force the subject again.

"It's ok, Buffy. I … understand. You're not baked yet, or whatever."

I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. "It's been a difficult time, Angel. Right now, I don't know what I want, but I can always use friends – especially friends who know how my life works."

He looks away for a moment, then turns back to me. "If that's what you want, then I'll give it a go. I don't remember who said it, but I do remember someone telling us we'd never be friends."

I remember that too, but I know who said it.

"Wait a minute," Angel adds a moment later. "It was Spike who said that, wasn't it. So maybe it wasn't so important."

I decide to ignore the snide comment. When Spike said that, he was actually pretty much right. Angel and I weren't friends then, but time and circumstances have changed both of us so that now, I think we've got a shot at it.

"So, what's been happening?" I ask, settling into a chair opposite him.

"Professionally? Nothing. When I said business was slow, I really meant stopped. But, in other news, I got the results of the tests the doctor did."

"Everything ok?" I ask. I look again at his face, and it's paler than it should be given his otherwise dark colouring, and it's more than just lack-of-sunshine pale.

"Oh, nothing to worry about," he says, but it's obvious there's a 'but' coming, so I keep quiet, letting him continue.

"It's just, ... you know I had a few drinks the other night? Well, according to the doctor, that must've been a regular occurrence, and I'm going to have to lay off the booze."

"But … how?"

"You see, Buffy, near as I can tell, this being human thing is …, it's as though time's been turned back. The body I had when I died is what I've got now. It's probably not obvious, but I've lost muscle bulk. And … er, before I died, I liked a drink. I've been researching the Shanshu prophecy, trying to make sense of what Wes had, along with what I remember from Wolfram and Hart records."

I ignore the researching bit. Whatever's the reason for his current situation, the priority's how he deals with it, rather than what caused it.

"So you've got to lay off drinking. You can do that, right?"

"I want to, I really do. I just don't know. I thought the Shanshu was a reward. You know? Here it is, a clean slate. Instead, what's happened is I've been sent right back to the start. I'm going to have to do it all again - pull my body back into shape, get on with a new life, start all over again. And the worst part is, I'm alone."

I'm about to protest, but he holds up a hand.

"Wait, Buffy, let me finish. I've only ever been alone once, and then there was you, and you pulled me out of that and gave me a purpose. When I was human, I always had friends who'd help me spend my da's money. And we spent it - on drink and … other things. When I met Darla, she changed me, but not as much as you'd think. Truth is, as a human, I was everything my father told me I was. I was a drunk, a wastrel. As Angelus, I had power, and I used that power to cause pain, and I revelled in it. But, same as the drinking, I went too far, killed a gypsy girl, and got myself cursed with a soul as a result. I spent years living in the gutter, eating rats, trying to cope with the guilt. And I'd still be there if it hadn't been for you. I saw you, a child, given this huge responsibility, and I had to help. I had to be there for you, and you gave me purpose. Once I was on that path, I didn't need you to keep me on it, but without you, I'd never have found it."

"It wasn't …" But again he holds up a hand.

"Let me finish. Please. This … isn't easy. I've been doing a lot of thinking these past few days, wondering if you'd gone back to Rome, so disgusted with me that I'd never see you again. I need to finish this. Now, where was I? Yes, so, when I came to LA, I already knew what I needed to do, and I started the agency, and Cordy and Doyle, and later Gunn and Wes and Fred and Lorne, they came and we were a team. It was good, you know? But they're all dead now. Except Gunn and Lorne. Lorne told me, before the battle, that I wouldn't see him again. And Gunn? I think something died in him that night too. Maybe he'll find it again and come back, but then again, maybe he won't. So, what've I got left? Well, I thought I had you. I thought that with the whole 'being alive' thing, I'd finally be worthy of you, and then, well, now I know, I remember, that I'm not worthy of you. Never was. If you'd known me when I was alive before? You'd have turned away from me. I wasn't worthy of you then, and I'm not now. Maybe, maybe I can be, some day, but …"

He stops then, and I think maybe he's looking for a response from me.

"Angel, you're not alone. I'm here, and I'm a friend. I'll help you with … "

"I don't know if that's enough. I'll try to make it enough, but …"

I'm desperately thinking of something to say, something to give him the hope that he seems lacking in just now, and then I remember.

"Who's the woman in the picture?" I ask.

"What picture?"

"When I came in here to get you some painkillers the other day, you said to look in the top drawer. I did, but," I point at the desk, "two top drawers. The one that didn't have the painkillers had a photograph. I just wondered who she was."

He reaches out and opens the drawer, removing the photo. He looks at it for a moment, then shakes his head.

"I'm no good to her now either."

"Why? Why would you be no good to her now? Who is she?"

"Nina. I failed her the last time. I heard her scream, ran as fast as I could, but I was too late. She was bitten by a werewolf."

"Oh," I answer, wondering why he's got a photo of her if he thinks he failed her.

"She was coming to Wolfram and Hart every month so we could lock her up during the three nights of the full moon. She … and I …"

"You were lovers."

"Yeah."

"When was this? Recently?"

"This last year. I sent her and her family away when I knew the apocalypse was coming."

"How did she feel about that?"

"She didn't want to go. She didn't understand, but … her sister has a little girl. I had to get them away."

"And now the apocalypse is over, where are they?"

"I assume they've come back."

"And?"

"And I'm useless to her now."

"What about the full moon? How long till the next one? Where's she going to go?"

He gets up and checks out the calendar.

"Next week. The full moon's next week."

"So what're you going to do about it?"

"Me? What can I do?"

"You understand. You know she's not imagining getting hairy every month. She needs someone who understands what she's dealing with."

"She needs a hero."

"Maybe she did, at first, but it sounds like, in the end, she needed a man."

He laughs then, one of those mirthless laughs that chills rather than warms the spirits.

"What, Angel?"

"If she needs a man, she doesn't need me."

"Maybe she'd rather have a man than a vampire."

"Maybe she wouldn't."

"And maybe you should give her the choice."

"I can't, Buffy."

"Why not? Why can't you get in touch with her, offer to help her through the full moon? Why can't you give her the chance to see if she wouldn't rather date a man than a vampire?"

"Because I can't, Buffy. Don't you see?" His voice is louder, almost shouting, and his tone is full of self-loathing.

"No I don't see," I answer, the volume of my own voice higher now.

"I told you. I spent my money on drink and … other things. I spent money on whores, and … I caught something."

"Ah," I answer, just so he knows I heard while I think about where to go from there. "But the doctor spotted it, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"And it's being treated, yes?"

"Yes."

"So what's the problem?"

"Well, it'll be a while before … and what do I tell her if she wants to … resume the physical side of our relationship?"

"Well, what you tell her is up to you, but the truth might be a good idea. She already knows you were Angelus, right? If she can deal with that, then maybe she can deal with the rest. Talk to your doctor, see what he suggests about the … practicalities."

"Maybe," he answers.

"And in the meantime, she needs you. Maybe even more than I did. What's she going to do next week?"

Reminding him yet again of the full moon seems to do the trick. He straightens his posture before saying, "You're right, Buffy. I can help with that. You remember when Willow had to come to LA before you defeated the First?"

"Yeah. You needed your soul back. She told me eventually."

"Well, we had a cage built for me, er him. It's still down in the basement. I could get that set up for her … in case she hasn't found something else."

"Yeah, because secure cages for werewolves are such a common commodity these days."

He actually smiles at that.

"Look, Angel, you've got a call to make. I think I'll go back and argue with Neville about how to make a cup of tea. I know exactly how to do it, but it's so much fun to wind him up. Call me and let me know what's happening. I'd like to meet Nina too, if that's ok."

"I'll ask her, if …"

"It's not easy, Angel. Sometimes the things you've done in the past … are just so hard to face, to accept, but … maybe this is the first step to putting yourself back on track."

I get up then, and Angel stands too. Instinctively, he comes around to my side of the desk, his arms raised for a hug, and then he drops them in such a pathetic gesture that I have no choice but to open my arms for a hug. And this time, it's a good hug - a friends' hug.

As I leave the office, I hear him dialling, but I'm not thinking about Angel or Nina or anything about them. I'm thinking about the things I've done that I regret, and first among all of those, I remember a night I destroyed the face of a man because he loved me and didn't want me to throw my life away. We've all got regrets. I just wish I'd had a real chance to show Spike how sorry I was about that.

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**Glasgow****25 June 2004**

It's surprising how quickly life can become routine. Since I arrived in Glasgow, I've set up a home of sorts, fallen in love (with a car), even managed to make a friend or two. Being the city it is, there are a lot of cemeteries, and I've been patrolling them, working my way through the list night by night. It's not the Hellmouth, but it's been keeping me busy. Before hitting the cemeteries, I've been doing the rounds of various drinking establishments. It took a while, but the other night I eventually found one that has a significant demon clientele, and from there, I picked up a couple more. I'm planning to visit all of them when I can to try to pick up on anything that might be useful. Not being known around here is kind of a double-edged sword. It means that I'm not (yet) really known as one of the white-hats, but on the other hand, I don't have the sort of reputation that makes people wary of me either, so until I get a better idea of how things stand, I'm stuck with taking it slowly.

Of course, during the day, apart from sleeping, I've been spending time with Gus and trying to make sense of the disappearing Slayers. Jean reappeared, but according to Giles, although there was evidence that her mind had been tampered with, any memories of the time she was gone were simply erased rather than hidden. Physically, she's checked out fine except for evidence that she'd been drugged in some way. Of course, the authorities seem loath to believe that the drugs weren't self-administered despite her previously unblemished character. It just seems that they find it easier to believe than the alternatives, or at least, that's the conclusion they reached when there was no evidence of sexual assault. I suppose short-sightedness does export to police forces outside of Sunnydale after all.

Daytimes, I sleep - at least in the morning. Mrs. M and I even share a cup of tea most days. We swap stories of our pasts, and it's … good. It almost reminds me of the relationship I had with Dawn or Joyce in the past. It's comfortable, and that's not something I've had much in recent years, or maybe ever. Of course, Moira's more interested in the background than the violence, at least until I ended up in Sunnydale. And naturally, every single conversation ends up with her asking me if I've spoken to Buffy yet. It's almost a joke, but I know she's serious.

Today, after our afternoon chat, I head upstairs to find Gus on the phone. Nothing unusual in that, so I peruse the papers on his desk, looking for a translation he's been working on. He's quite the linguist, but his grasp of one or two demon tongues isn't up to mine, and I've enjoyed correcting his efforts. He, of course, started off being indignant, until he found that I was right, and now he's taking it all much better – even checking with me on Latin and Greek which I studied a long time ago. Truth is, I've enjoyed remembering all that stuff. Let's just say that my school days weren't the happiest of my life, but without the strain of the atmosphere there, I'm finding I'm more able than I remember being.

I find the most recent Fyarl document. Someone picked it up in Eastern Europe and Giles sent it to Gus, but I suspect, given that Giles knows I speak Fyarl, that it was really intended for me.

I take Gus' pencil - he hates that I don't take a new one, just grabbing his instead - and start to look through what he's done. I won't tell him, of course, but he's picking up the written language quickly. Can't say so much for his pronunciation, but then the day he tries to hold a conversation with a Fyarl will probably be his last.

Despite looking at the paper in front of me, I'm very aware of the fact that Gus isn't talking, just listening, so I glance at him, and his expression makes it clear that the call isn't good news. I concentrate a little, trying to hear the other end of the conversation, but just as I do, it's obvious that the call's ending. I do spot that it's not Giles, though.

Gus puts the phone down and turns to me, his concern obvious.

"Bad news?"

"Yes. Er … it seems there've been more Slayers taken. As of now, there are none left in the UK. They've been disappearing on a regular basis since the three from round here went missing. Giles was keeping it quiet at first – hoping that we'd find something useful that would help to stop further abductions."

"He didn't tell you?" I ask, incredulous.

"Apparently he didn't want the news getting out; he was worried that if it was generally known, there'd be an outbreak of problems."

"So what changed his mind?"

"The fact that whatever's going on seems to have accelerated. The last of the UK abductions was seven days ago. Since then, the problem's moved across the Atlantic. As of today, there are no Slayers within two hundred miles of New York City."

I sit for a moment, stunned.

"I assume it's the same scheme – whatever it is – but is there any evidence? I know we only turned up Fyarl residue on one of the abductions around here, but what about the rest?"

"There's been some residue, but none in the most recent cases. Problem with that stuff is that one rain shower can get rid of it. You were lucky to find it under those gravestones – and even that would have been washed away if there'd been a heavy shower. It's the same story. The women have been disappearing without trace."

"Any other reappearances?"

"Yes – that's the funny thing. Of the inactive Slayers like Jean, they're all turning up within a few days now – devoid of both their strength and any memory of what happened to them. The authorities are working on some theories which vary from some new drug which has hit local markets, to some sort of virus. Of course, they don't know that all the women involved were Slayers. Among the active Slayers, things are more mixed. There are a few who've been gone long enough that Giles is working on the assumption that they've been … killed. He thinks they'd be the most likely to resist … whatever's happening, and that they're proving more difficult to contain."

"He might be right," I agree, knowing that he's thinking about Fiona. "But there are other options."

"There are?" he asks, hope flaring in his eyes, and I kick myself. What I've got in mind isn't necessarily better than death.

"Look, mate, it's not a pretty world out there. You know that. Slayers … they've always been a valuable commodity in their own way. Me? I made my name out of them. Course then, there was only one at a time. Now, with lots of them? There're people who'd pay a pretty penny to have one."

"Have one? For what?"

"Use your imagination. Maybe just for some strong-arm on behalf of someone else. I've heard of some … organisations that collect fighters from various worlds and pit them against each other. Let's just assume that there's a market out there for Slayers, and if someone's found a way of filling that market …" I deliberately don't mention the prospect of a sexual motive, but it's an obvious alternative.

"Then we're going to find them and put a stop to it."

"Of course we are. We've just not got any idea of how to do it yet. How much detail did you get?"

"Not a lot. There's a courier on their way from London with a copy of the full report as of now. Giles didn't feel comfortable trusting it to the postal system."

We're both silent for a moment, and I look through my mental catalogue of people who might have information.

"There's one odd thing here," I point out.

He looks up, the unuttered question on his face.

"Morag. She wasn't active, but she hasn't reappeared. Is she the only one?"

"I think so. I got the impression that all of the inactive Slayers still missing are recent abductees, but I can't be sure until I get that full report."

"It could just be an aberration, I suppose. I'll hit the demon bars tonight. I think the time for quiet listening's probably over, and I should go and demand some information. In fact, there's one that might be worthwhile before tonight. The manager there's a particularly sleazy type - reminds me of someone in Sunnydale. I can get there through the sewers, and while things are quiet, he might just be willing to tell me something about Fyarls being hired or money changing hands."

"Do you want me to come?" he asks, a mixture of hope and dread apparent on his face.

"Probably better if I go alone for now. Maybe later, when I've got a better feel for what's likely to happen, but for now, I'm better off without you."

"I see," he mutters.

"I know you want to help, and you are helping. I'm not going to walk in there and get the full story. If I'm lucky, I'll get a few pointers, but we'll have to work from those to find out what's really happening. That's where you come in. You've got the contacts, the books and everything. And you'll get the chance to read that report when it gets here."

"Ok," he agrees. "So, how's that translation looking?"

I smile at the change of subject. "Not bad," I admit. "You pick up languages pretty quickly."

"Always have," he agrees. "Demon languages are harder than human, though."

"Of course, the document's a load of tripe," I add, and he smiles in agreement.

"Well, yes. I really don't see how recipes for cooking their favourite foods is going to be useful in the fight against evil."

I leave him then and go downstairs to get myself ready to go on my fact-finding mission.

It takes me maybe twenty minutes to get there. I could do it faster, but I prefer to take a slightly longer route that avoids the worst of the smells. Once at the right location, I know that the manhole cover above will lead into an alley close to my destination. I push it open a crack, making sure there's no one around, and then push it out completely and pull myself up. My destination's a pub round the corner which goes by the name 'The Office'. Now, I can see how human types might like that name - I mean, "I've got to stay late at the office tonight," might be a useful line if you actually work in an office, but the patrons of this place don't seem the type to don shirts and ties. There are humans, but I doubt that any of them do the sort of work that the tax man knows anything about.

The door's open, and even this early in the day, there're half a dozen inside. Apart from a couple of green types in the corner, the rest all look human. I head straight for the bar, where a lone man waits, staring into space. I know from before that he's actually the manager, and I'm assuming that most of his other staff don't come in until later.

"What can I get you?" he asks when he spots me.

"A pint of … heavy," I answer. He nods and walks to the pump.

"I'd like to talk too."

"Talking? Not a good idea in a place like this," he answers, placing the glass in front of me.

I grab his lapels and pull him towards me. "Not doing as I ask definitely isn't a good idea."

He starts to mumble things then, nervously threatening me with dire consequences. I sense something approaching from behind, and turn just in time to avoid the fist of a vamp who thought he'd creep up behind me.

It doesn't take me long to dispatch him - and by the look of the faces around as he explodes into dust, his demise doesn't seem to upset anyone other than the manager.

"Right, now that the interruption's over, we were having a chat," I remind him. "How's about we carry on where we left off."

His face is pale, and beads of sweat are forming on his pudgy cheeks.

"How? Brutus's never been beaten. He's …"

"He's gone. Now, if you don't want me to, let's say, start wrecking this place and denting some of your customers as an appetiser for what I'll do to you, then I suggest you just agree to answer some questions." Just to make my offer more appealing, I let my face change.

"Ok," he agrees quickly, but I know from experience that he's not planning on telling me anything useful.

"So, Fyarl demons. You know what they look like, don't you?"

"Y … yeah. Big. Don't like them coming in here. They start fights and … things get broken."

"Right. So, you heard of any of them getting some work lately? Maybe started a month ago?"

"Never heard about any work."

I grab his lapels again, pull him towards me.

"Try again."

"It's true, honest. I've never heard of any work. There were a couple, though. Barred them last month. Expected them to come back anyway, but they didn't. Maybe they got a better offer."

"What can you tell me about them?"

"Not a lot. I mean, you've seen one Fyarl, you've seen them all, haven't you?"

I run my tongue over my fangs, deliberately drawing blood. His face has now gone through white and is looking distinctly green.

"Anything else?"

"They said something about a boat."

"A boat?" I ask, incredulous.

"They were saying something about taking a sail, but that they couldn't get out of the van."

"A sail? Where?"

"Don't know. Not far, though. I mean, they'd been in every night for weeks. It's not like they'd be able to go far. Ferry maybe? You know, on the river? I don't know."

I drop him, and get a yelp as his feet fail to find the floor firmly and he skids back, falling to his knees. By the time he gets up, I'm back in the alley. One down and two to go.

I get finished as early as I can, but, of course, I don't expect Gus to still be at the office. That's why I'm surprised when there are still lights on up there. I climb the stairs to find him furiously taking notes from some site online.

"Thought you'd have gone home," I offer. "You got any idea what time it is?"

"Around nine?" he suggests, then looks at his watch.

"Oh. Later then. It took me a while to read the report, and then I've been doing some research. I've found some sites that could refer to the sort of thing you suggested earlier. You know, where girls could be pitted against … something. No addresses, though."

"Well, the actual places may not even be in this world," I warn him. "If they're advertising, then they're looking for clients, but that doesn't mean that they'll be round the corner."

"Oh. I suppose you're right. So, did you find anything?"

"Nah. Nothing I could make anything of. There was something about a ferry ride, and a Fyarl having to stay in the van, but that's …"

"A ferry ride?" Gus' ears have positively pricked at that suggestion. "It's probably nothing, but add an aberration to those words, and I come up with Morag Fitzpatrick."

"How so?"

"She lives in Glasgow, you know that. What you might not know is that she doesn't come from Glasgow. She was brought up on the Isle of Bute. I get the impression that the family home's still there, although as far as I know, she's the only member of the family left."

"So, how do you get to this Isle of Bute?"

"There's a ferry. Not sure where from, let me just check."

He hits a few keys, goes to Google, enters 'Bute Ferry' and hits return. The information appears a moment later. The route is run by a company called Caledonian MacBrayne, and it runs from somewhere called Wemyss Bay. Regular service too, and a short crossing.

"So, tomorrow we'll go and take a look," I suggest. "Only, we'll take my car. Apart from the fact that I'd rather not be seen in your Focus, there's the little question of the lack of sun-proofing in yours. We'll take the ferry across and see what we can find."

"Ok," he agrees, but he doesn't look too happy.

"What's up?" I ask.

"Well, Mr. Giles did say that he didn't think a lot of your driving."

"Oh, did he now? Well, tomorrow you'll find that you can relegate that particular opinion of Mr. Giles' to the rubbish bin along with several others that he has of me."

Somehow, Gus doesn't look at all convinced.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter ****15**

**Los Angeles****25 June 2004**

Angel did have a guest for the full moon. He rang after he'd spoken to Nina. He even thanked me for 'knocking some sense into him'. It turns out that she'd been on the verge of leaving town completely, having some idea of living in the wilds somewhere so she wouldn't hurt anyone. Angel knows as well as I do that that wouldn't have helped. Werewolves can cover a lot of distance quickly, and empty as parts of this country are, you don't have to go that far to find people.

I've seen him a couple of times this past couple of weeks too, and he's looking better. I don't know if he finally told Nina the whole story, and I get the impression that, for now at least, their relationship has gone back to largely professional, but to be honest, I think Angel needs a romantic relationship about as much as I do right now.

In other news, well, I've been wrapped up getting the apartment ready for Dawn coming back. I've got her set up to start her senior year at a local school, and she seems excited at the prospect.

Because of that, I missed the early clues. And when I did realise that something was wrong, I had no idea of the scope of the problem. I did spot that Giles was worried about something, but then it became all but impossible to talk to him so I didn't get the chance to push him on what was going on. Neville told me that it couldn't be important or Giles would have told me, but I knew better.

So, when I got the call early this morning, I knew it was bad news. Apparently, there are no Slayers left in the UK. Every one of them has been abducted and either returned without their powers or is still missing - forty-something girls and women. The scope of that's bad enough, but there was worse to come. It looks like whoever-it-is has moved across the Atlantic, and is gradually working their way across the US.

"And why am I only hearing this now? Surely you should have called as soon as you knew what was happening?"

"Buffy, well, at first, I thought it was an isolated incident. And then, when it wasn't, I was concerned that making the situation public would just encourage someone to take advantage of the situation."

"So what's changed?"

"What's changed is the fact that there's no way we can keep this quiet now. Slayers are disappearing faster than ever, and we still have no idea of what's behind it."

"Ok, so tell me the whole story," I suggest.

"I've already arranged for a courier to deliver the full report to you. They should be with you by tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I suggest that you just take special care."

"So, how's it happening? What sort of precautions do I need?"

"Well, that's the problem. To be honest, I don't know. The first few to disappear did so when apparently alone. There was some evidence of Fyarl demon involvement in a couple of cases. However, as the rate of abduction has accelerated, the method of abduction has changed. I arranged for several active Slayers to remain together with their Watchers as a precaution. All five girls just disappeared, despite their Watchers'presence.They believe that the girls were teleported away, but we've been unable to trace a destination."

"Teleportation? Surely there's something you can do about that? Willow …"

"… is already with the Coven working on just that. They're trying to find a way to block further teleportations, but so far, they've come up with nothing."

"And the girls come back without their powers?"

"And without any memory of what happened. Our best guess is that someone has found a way to harness that power in some other way. Again, the Coven is working on possible mechanisms, but so far, nothing."

"Look, how about I come over and …"

"No. I was serious when I said that I don't want Slayers involved in this investigation. I've already got people working on this – Watchers mainly, and I've got to trust that they'll find something."

"But …"

"No, Buffy. I mean it. At the rate it's going, you'll only be safe in California for a month or so – less if the rate increases again."

I decide not to argue any more. I know I won't change his mind, but that doesn't mean that I've changed mine.

"Buffy," Giles interrupts my thoughts.

"Yes?"

"I've got a lot of other calls to make. I'll keep you up to date, and I know that I don't need to ask that you read the full report and see if it doesn't spark anything for you or Neville."

"Research Girl, that's me," I quip, but somehow it's not a quippy voice. This is serious, and it feels personal. I didn't go and share my power with all those other girls just so it would be taken from them. I hang up then give Neville the bits he missed. He's just got to the shocked, open-mouthed stage when my phone rings again.

The woman on the other end isn't American, and she's not English either, but it's an old voice, and there's something about it that convinces me she's not selling anything.

"Miss Summers, you don't know me. My name is Moira McConnechie. My husband worked for the Council of Watchers for many years."

"You're not English," I say, still wondering at the accent. It reminds me of something, but it's not Giles or Spike.

"You're quite right, my dear. I'm a Scot and proud of it. However, there have always been people from all over Britain in the Council's employ."

"Oh," I mumble. I'm just musing on where I might have heard that accent when I realise that she's still talking.

"I'm sorry," I apologise. "I missed that."

"Interference on the line, I expect," she says. "As I was saying, for many years, there has been an annual memorial service for the Council. It's a religious service that's held in London where we remember those members of the Council who have been killed in the line of duty. There was no service last year - the first time in over two hundred years - but given the situation of the Council at the time, and the many individual funerals being held, that was hardly surprising."

"I see," I say, not seeing anything at all.

"I spoke to Mr. Rupert Giles some weeks ago, and he agreed that I should organise this year's service. I'm calling to ask if you will attend. We know that our great loss last year was due to forces that you were personally more than instrumental in defeating. It would mean a great deal to many survivors and the families of those who died if you could."

"I … I'm not sure. I mean, I'm not religious. I'm not even sure I believe in … God."

"I can assure you that that is unimportant. Many in the Council follow no particular faith, and others follow faiths which, well, let's just say are considered more crackpotthan real by most of society."

"But …"

"Please, don't answer now. Think about it. The service will be held on 1st July in West Kensington Parish church at three in the afternoon. As a guest of the Council, all your expenses will be paid out of my organising budget. I'll arrange a hotel in Kensington, or elsewhere in London if you have a preference."

Something occurs to me then. It just seems like rather too much of a coincidence that I've just had a call from Giles that makes me want to visit him, and then I get just such an invitation.

"Tell me, does Mr. Giles know you've invited me?"

"No, my dear, no. Mr. Giles is much too busy to concern himself with such matters. He will, of course, attend, and he will say a few words, but he is content to leave the actual details to me."

"I see." I'm looking at the date on my calendar, and then I realise that Dawn's due back here on the third. "Ah, I'll have to decline, I think. My sister is flying back from Rome on the third, and I have to be in LA then."

"Ah, your sister. Yes, Rupert has mentioned her. How is she?"

"Fine, I think."

"But young to be travelling so far alone."

"I suppose so, but …"

"But don't you see? This is perfect. If you come to London, then perhaps you can arrange for her to join you there, and then you can travel back together. Perhaps I can even introduce you to Scotland while you're here. It would be an honour to have you as my guests."

"I don't know. It's …" I almost say tempting because it is. It's a chance to find out everything I can about the original disappearances. Once I've read the full report, I'll know exactly where to look when I get there. But I decide to be cautious for now, saying, "Well, I'll think about it and let you know."

"Splendid, my dear. I'll just give you my phone number."

She does that, and I scribble it on the pad on my desk. The pencil comes up and the end goes into my mouth almost without any conscious effort on my part as soon as I've hung up.

"You look thoughtful," Neville comments from his desk across the room.

"Mmm," I agree. "Tell me, you've been working for the Council for a while. What do you know about an annual memorial service for Council members?"

"That? Oh, that's a very old tradition. A lot of people were very upset that it was cancelled last year. There were good reasons - I mean, the headquarters had been destroyed, and many Watchers killed. The whole organisation was in chaos. If it hadn't been for Rupert Giles … and the rest of you, of course, the Council would have been a spent force. Why do you ask?"

"I've just been invited to attend."

"Oh, I'm glad it's back this year. I doubt I'll be allowed to fly back for it, of course, but … I wonder. Who's organising it this year? It always used to be Quentin Travers' PA."

"It's a … Moira McConnechie," I answer, my tongue trying to mimic the way she said the name, but I know I'll never master that 'ch' sound she made.

"Moira McConnechie?" His 'ch' isn't much better than mine. "Well, that's …"

"That's what?"

"I've heard tales of her - mainly from my father. Her husband - Duncan - he was a major force in some areas of the Council when my dad was a young Watcher. He was very respected - especially among the field operatives - more so than the likes of Travers, because he seemed to be more in touch with the real world. He liked the trappings of tradition as much as anyone, but he wasn't afraid to throw such things out if he felt they were in the way. He never made it to the most senior positions in the Council. My dad reckoned it was because he wouldn't kowtowto history for the sake of it. They used him, though. His wife - Moira - well, there were rumours that she used … magic, and at that time, such things were not considered entirely respectable. Some of those who wanted him held back claimed that she controlled her husband with it, but … when the Council needed her help, she was there. She set up the initial contacts with the Coven in Devon that Giles knows. To us youngsters, she was a figure of terror. Not quite 'If you don't behave, she'll turn you into a toad,' but not far off. I've never met her, but my dad, well, let's just say he wasn't sure whether she was more saint than terror, but he had a lot of respect for her."

That's quite a history. "Why would she be organising the service? I mean, she sounded quite … old."

"Well, she's no youngster, although I think she was younger than her husband, but she's also a force of nature. My guess? She's bullied Giles into giving the job to her. Duncan McConnechie was a major figure in Giles' early days as a Watcher. There were suggestions that the reason Giles didn't get on faster within the Council was that he had been too close to Duncan. Then again, Quentin Travers didn't need reasons for keeping some people down."

He watches me as I take all that in. "So, are you going?" he asks at last.

"I don't know. I'm tempted … especially since these Slayer disappearances started over there."

"They may have started over there, but they're happening over here now. Maybe you'd learn more staying here."

"Somehow that smacks of just waiting for the inevitable. Not my style at all. I've got to do something, and maybe this is my chance."

"Giles probably wouldn't be happy if you went."

"True, but then Giles probably wouldn't be happy if I went to take a look at the most recent disappearances either. In some respects, if whoever it is thinks they've cleared all the Slayers out of England, then maybe that's the safest place I could be."

"Up to you. But if Giles should ask, I didn't know what you were planning."

I grin at that. "Ok. I'll remember that."

When I get home, I check out the possibilities. Later, when I know she'll be up, I call Dawn to see what she thinks. To my surprise, she seems pleased. I had thought that suggesting that we do the transatlantic leg together might be seen as 'fussing' over her, but the prospect of spending a couple of days in London, or even travelling around the UK seem to be welcome. Fortunately, her ticket can be changed, and I make up my mind to arrange all that as soon as I've had a chance to speak to Moira again.

The more I think about it, the better I like the sound of going to England. If it all started there, then maybe there's a clue to what's going on. And anyway, if this team Giles has working on it already was up to the mark, then we'd have that information already. I can just imagine them - typical Watchers every one. Probably wouldn't know a vampire if one jumped up and bit them.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter****16**

**Glasgow****26 June 2004**

I spent some time reading the full report last night and I'm not any happier. In fact, if I thought Buffy was anywhere other than at the other side of the US, I'd be all for getting out of here and going over there even if it does make a nonsense of my attempt to keep out of her way. The idea that she might end up being a victim of this … scheme, well, let's just say that it's not going to happen. Not if I have any say in the matter. Still, at the rate this plague's moving, they reckon we've only got a few weeks, and for now, that just gives me extra motivation to find out what we can here.

It's late morning before we finally leave. A vamp's got to sleep, and anyway, driving'll be easier once the sun's fairly high. The black paint helps, but if it cut out all the sunlight, I couldn't actually see to drive. Gus directs me, and we drive through Glasgow to the motorway. We continue through the city for a bit, past the airport, and then things open out – urban landscape giving way to green fields. Beyond that, we reach the Clyde Estuary, and the road follows the river more or less all the way to Wemyss Bay. It doesn't seem like a big place, but there's a railway station and the ferry terminal next to it. I find the queue, and join it, while Gus gets out to buy our tickets. By the time he gets back, the queue is already moving towards the ferry, so we don't have to wait for long.

Once on board, I go up to the coffee lounge where I manage to find a table where I'm not in danger of frying. I take the opportunity to check out the map of the island that we printed out before we left while Gus takes in the view from on deck.

We drive off the ferry, but soon leave the other traffic, cutting up into the centre of the island rather than going around the coast. Our destination is St. Ninian's point, at the far west of the island. It's not far really. The main road follows the coast, though, and by crossing through the heart of the island, we end up on narrower, more winding roads. We pass some farms and houses along the way, finally rejoining the coast road at the other side, and then start to look for the turning to take us right out to the point. We only spot it at the last minute, and I leave some rubber on the road as I turn quickly. Fortunately, this part of the island is much quieter than the other side close to the ferry terminal, and there's not a lot of traffic on the road.

"Glad it's your tyres," Gus comments under his breath, but then he gasps.

I turn around to look at him, but I already know that his heart rate has gone up alarmingly.

"What's up?" I ask.

"I don't know. I just feel … like there's something going to happen, something … evil."

I hadn't spotted anything, but now that he's pointed it out, I do get something – not the dread that he's feeling, but a definite wash of magic in the air.

"There's something going on," I agree. "Not feeling it like you do, but my guess is that someone's trying to keep humans out of the way."

Gus is looking quite ill. "I'd guess it'd work too. I'm just going to close my eyes and concentrate on not getting out of here, ok?"

"Fine," I agree. It might not be fine, but I can monitor his heart while I drive, and that should give me enough notice if the effect gets any more serious.

The further I drive, the more aware I become. I suspect it's not getting any stronger, just more familiar somehow, and it's not a good magic – nothing wholesome about it.

We continue to drive, and soon spot our destination. The cottage faces the road with the water behind it, and I pull up as close as I can get - which is actually right outside the front door. I look over at Gus, and he seems more or less in control.

"You ok to take a look outside?" I ask.

He nods as if afraid to speak, climbs out and soon I seehim beckoning me towards the now open door. I cover myself with the blanket I threw in the back, and run for it.

The inside looks like it hasn't seen any decoration or new furniture for half a century, which is probably no more than a reflection of the truth. There's a small living room with a suite of furniture, and an even smaller kitchen with an old-fashioned gas cooker. Two bedrooms, both with heavy, old-fashioned beds and wardrobes, are at the back of the building. No bathroom, but Gus points to an outhouse in the back which is probably an outside loo.

"How's it feel now?" I ask.

"Not so bad in the house," he replies, and he does look a little better. Taking a look out the back door, there's a shed just outside, and it's shady enough there that I can get to the door without difficulty. I open the door – unlocked – and walk in. If I had any doubts about the source of the bad feelings, it's pretty obvious now. This shed's been used for magic – there are little pots of ingredients filling shelves around the walls, and the large table in the centre of the room has been soaked in blood over many years. The room just reeks of magicl. Despite that, Gus seems much better, and I glance in his direction to check his appearance. He's got some colour back, and has moved into Watcher mode. We both check out the room, looking for anything to help us in our search. The simple fact that Morag was apparently a witch before she was a Slayer doesn't necessarily help us, although it does leave me wondering whether she's actually a victim after all.

As I move towards the far end of the room, I catch something new. There's a warmth coming from the back wall, and I'm pretty sure it's not just sun-warmed. Something's been shielded – like Rack shielded his place back in Sunnydale. I feel for the source, finding it centred at the far left corner of the shed. I move forward, the apparently substantial wall anything but solid, and I'm in another shed, and this one goes right to the water's edge. More useful, is the fact that there's a boat inside.

I go back to find Gus looking around for me. I quickly explain what I've found, take him by the arm, and pull him through.

Interestingly, as soon as he's through, his whole demeanour changes, and his eyes light up.

"What?" I ask.

"That," he says, pointing at the boat. "Someone went to a lot of bother to hide it, so I'd say we should go for a little sail."

"Do you know anything about boats?" I ask. "I mean, I don't need to breathe, but I'm not going to last long in the sunshine if it sinks."

"I didn't ever mention that I spent my teens running around helping at one of the yacht clubs down this way, did I? You know, just general background stuff, but I learned a lot."

"No, you didn't."

"Always knew that particular skill'd come in handy."

He jumps on board, and starts checking things over. I get in too, and it's soon obvious that with a bit of help from a handy tarpaulin, I should be safe enough – as long as the boat's afloat

Within ten minutes, he's got the motor running, and everything's ready.

"Where d'you think we should go?" I ask. The logic that the boat's important is obvious, but that's as far as that logic takes me. Gus squints into the sunlight through the now open doorway at the water end of the shed.

"The island." He pulls the map from his pocket and points to it. Inchmore, it's called, and it's tiny – just a mile long, and it's down as being uninhabited.

"Good an idea as any," I agree, and get myself as comfortable as I can.

Gus keeps up a running commentary on what he's doing, and that helps. Not being able to see what's going on is making me feel uncomfortable. He's disappointed when he can't initially see anywhere to land, but he goes around the island for a bit, then I hear a cheer.

"There's a landing stage here. It's pretty crude, but it'll do. I'm going to pull to."

I let him do that, and when he suggests going to check out the area, there's not a lot I can do either, beyond lifting the tarpaulin a bit so I can see him leave. He's back quickly, though, with the news that there are caves in the cliff beyond. I look where he's pointing, pull the tarpaulin over me, and we make a dash for the nearest entrance.

The entrance is actually a small, narrow tunnel, and I'm just beginning to think that it's a red herring, when it opens out into a cavern about twice the total size of the cottage. It's dark, but with my vamp vision I spot some candles around the walls. I pull my lighter out of my pocket and start lighting a few, then take in the scene before me.

While the shed had been used for magic for years, this place doesn't have that feeling at all, but it has still been used. The collection of ingredients is fewer, and there's a table comprising a stone slab to which chains have been attached. It doesn't take a lot of imagination to realise that they're placed to hold a human being – probably a very strong human being.

There's blood too – the scent of it strongest around that slab, and it's unmistakeably Slayer blood.

I pick up one of the candles, and check out the edges of the cave, soon finding a smaller cave through a low arch. There are more chains inside – it looks to be a holding cell, although it couldn't have held more than three or four girls at a time.

I hear Gus' voice calling me, and as I turn to go to him, something glints in the corner, and I go to pick it up. It's a watch – dainty little thing, silver in colour, with a plain white face. I pick it up and go to find out what Gus has found.

He's bent over a small wooden crate, and I join him as he picks up some little vials, but there're no details on them. Underneath, he finds some unused syringes, still in sterile packaging.

"Looks like this could be where the Slayers were brought," he comments. "They could have been drugged, and then … some ritual done to remove their powers."

"Could be," I agree. "But, if that's what happened, then they've moved on. There's no way this place could cope with the volume they're dealing with now. And … it's been weeks since this place's been used."

"So, is Morag behind this?" he asks.

"Could be," I agree. "Certainly that shed's been used for bad mojo for generations."

We stand up, and I take another look over the place.

"I think we need a sample of anything we can find here. Those vials – anything in those jars over by the slab."

"I'll get that," he offers.

I take another look around, checking to see if I've missed anything. Gus looks up and squints at my hand.

"What's that?" he asks.

"It's a watch – it was over there," I point. "Probably where the girls were kept."

He abandons what he's doing and reaches for it.

"Recognise it?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, softly. "It's Fiona's. She always complained that she couldn't tell the time with it. Her parents gave it to her for her birthday, but there's no numbers on it. Every time she was late for something, she blamed the watch."

I nod, and, leaving the watch with him, continue to check around the cavern. When I'm sure there's nothing right here, I pick up the tarpaulin again, and check outside.

Once there, the smell hits me. I can only assume I missed it last time because the wind has changed direction. I follow my nose, and it leads me to another cave entrance about fifty yards from the first. I go in, but it doesn't take long to spot the source.

It's a body, and if I had to guess, I'd say that a Fyarl was responsible. Trying to ignore the smell, I approach, taking in every detail I can, from approximate size and hair colour on one hand to visible injuries on the other. I do a quick search of clothing, but there's no identification there – not that I need it. There's enough similarity for me to be fairly certain who it is.

I head back to Gus who's appropriated the crate and filled it with samples of whatever he's found. One glance at me, and he knows I've found something.

"Looks like we're going to have to reconsider who's responsible," I say.

"Why? What've you found?"

He's moving towards the exit, hurrying to see it for himself. I put out a hand to stop him.

"She's dead, Gus. Long dead. There's nothing you can do."

"Dead? Who?"

"Morag. Our Slayer witch is dead. Beaten to death by the look of it."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter ****17 **

**Los Angeles****27 June 2004**

I put the phone down with a feeling of satisfaction. It's all arranged. I've organised some time off, I've booked my flights, and now I've spoken to Mrs. McConnechie, or Moira as she's told me to call her, and she's confirmed my hotel booking. All I've got to do now is finish the packing and get myself to the airport by some completely unreasonable hour tomorrow morning. Once in London, I'll have one full day to get over the worst of the jet lag before the service, and the day after it, Dawn'll fly into London. We're planning on spending a couple of days there, taking in the shops and sights, and then we're going to fly to Glasgow with Moira. We're going to share her spare bedroom while we're there, and she's promised an interesting time. I admit I'm really looking forward to it all.

There's just one small thing I'm worried about. When I told Giles I was going to meet Dawn, he, not unnaturally, assumed I was going to Rome, and I didn't actually correct him. If he's at the service, and Moira expects him to be, then he's going to spot my little omission. Still, by then, there's not a lot he can do about it. And I've booked leave, so it's not as though I'm cheating the Council in some way, so my conscience isn't too upset.

I'm just making a list of the things I've got to finish work-wise before I go, when I hear an unfamiliar voice in the outer office. It's a voice that makes my ears prick up - it's like Giles' but … more so. It's the sort of voice that I'll always associate with the Council, and I'm back to feeling like an immature little girl again for an instant before I remind myself that Giles is in charge now, so everything's different.

When the door opens, I freely admit that I'm shocked into silence. The man in the doorway looks like a cross between a movie star and a fantasy. He's tall, slim, tanned but not overly so, dressed in a smart and probably very expensive grey suit, but my attention is drawn to his eyes - green/grey - and the most amazing smile I've seen in …

I shake my head to clear it and spot that he's holding out his hand to me.

"Philip Spencer-Kidd," he says, shaking my hand warmly. "And you must be the famous Buffy Summers. Naturally I've heard a great deal about you, while you, in all probability, have never heard of me."

"I'm afraid you're right," I answer. "I haven't."

"Oh, I can't imagine you're ever afraid these days. The things you've faced … but I'm rambling. Like you, I work for the Council. I've been in Brunei for some years, handling a number of things there, and I'm on my way back to London now my assignment is over, but I thought I'd take some time along the way to look up some old friends."

The Council? Old friends? I suppose he means Neville, so, at least that makes sense. For the first time since this newcomer entered the room I notice Neville sitting at the next desk. As I glance over at him, I spot an expression that shows more hostility than I've ever seen on his normally open and friendly face.

"Oh, you know Neville?" I ask.

Philip glances at him, eyes narrowing as if to try to remember. "Ah, yes, I think I have met you, haven't I?" he manages, holding out a hand to Neville. "London, I think, perhaps three years ago? Some briefing on a Hell God called …"

He stops, apparently trying to remember the name. Neville answers for him.

"Glorificus."

"Ah yes, that's the one. It's so hard to recall the minutiae sometimes."

He ignores Neville then and turns that hundred megawatt smile on me again. Ok, I admit it. I'm mesmerised. Logically, I know my reaction isn't at all rational, but there's just something about him that seems to take away my ability to take logic seriously.

"So," he says, taking the chair from in front of my desk and moving it round to the side before sitting on it. "I hear you're going to London for the Remembrance Service."

"What? How?"

"Oh, nothing sinister, I assure you. I've got contacts in London - people who keep me up to date on what's happening there. The problem with being out of London for an extended period is that you can completely lose touch with what's really happening, so I took steps to ensure that I wasn't left behind. It's important to always be up to date, is it not? I did some checking, and found what flight you're on, so I took the liberty of booking myself on the same one. I've always wanted to meet the Slayer who made Quentin Travers back down, and it seemed like the ideal opportunity."

"Does everyone in the Council know I'm coming?" I ask, worried about Giles.

"Oh, no. In fact, it took a lot of digging to find out, but Penelope's a lot more than just a pretty face. I suspect she could get information out of anyone."

"Penelope? Your girlfriend?" I mentally kick my self at that. 'Your girlfriend?' I mean, honestly. Could I get any more obvious about checking out his availability?

"No, my contact," he answers, and I'm more than grateful that he shows no sign of having taken my idiotic question at more than face value. "So, will you do me the honour of being my travel companion on the way to London?"

"Oh, yes, sure." Somehow, that's all I can manage. I'm not altogether convinced that it's going to be a comfortable flight, but at least I know I'll have a good view the whole way.

"Oh, and if it's ok, I'll upgrade your business class tickets to first class. I always travel first class - pay for my own upgrades, you know? In the old days, the Council always used to spring for first class, but these days they reckon business class is good enough. And it's ok, I suppose, if you're not used to better. It's tedious enough to have to travel without having to make do with second rate champagne is what I always say."

I'm nodding. I'm getting the feeling that there's something off about my reaction, but the visual information is over-riding any other thoughts.

He's standing up again, holding out his hand.

"So good to have met you," he's saying. "I'll arrange a car to take you to the airport. We might as well do the whole journey as painlessly as possible."

And with that, he's gone, and I'm left looking after him. I turn to Neville, and I'm surprised to note that his expression hasn't changed.

"You don't look happy," I comment.

"Don't I?" he says, looking at me disapprovingly.

"What?"

"He does that every time."

"What?" I say, aware that I'm sounding repetitive.

"Walks into a room and charms any women who're there."

"Is that what he just did?" I demand, irritated at his attitude, all the more because I know he's right. Well, except for the fact that he didn't so much charm me as cause my brain to turn into goo.

"I'm sorry," he apologises immediately. "It's just, well, I don't trust him. There's just something too … smarmy about him."

Smarmy - that's one of the things Dawn called Carlo. Well, maybe I like smarmy.

"So, what do you know about him?" I ask, keeping my voice even. Neville really hasn't given me any reason not to trust him, and while I know he'd like to date me, we're really just friends.

"He comes from an old Watcher family. Money too. No title, but related to more titles than I can name. My dad used to say that the Spencers were only interested in being Watchers because they liked playing James Bond, and the Kidds, well, he reckoned they were always a bit dodgy. There were a couple of scandals back in the fifties, but they got hushed up. Between their money and the influence of the Council, you could get away with murder in those days."

"That's the family. What about him?"

"What he said about being in the Middle East is true. He's been working with the Sultan of Brunei or at least, with his staff. They've had some sort of demon problem and he's been observing and advising. I heard they'd finally sent a Slayer over a couple of months ago, and that the problem had been sorted."

I wonder for a moment why it is that Neville knows all this when I don't, then realise it might be something to do with the fact that I don't read the raft of memos that arrive on a daily basis. I tend to just scan for what seems to be important.

"You don't know which Slayer, do you?"

"Er, yes. Faith, I think. I'm surprised you didn't know."

"Faith? She's back working for the Council?"

"It looks like it. You can take a look at the database if you like. It has details of every employee's current assignment providing it's not secret or something."

Distracted for a moment from contemplating either Philip's perfect smile or Neville's odd reaction, I log into the system. I enter Faith's name, and there it is. She's currently assigned to Cleveland – due to start running a final training centre for Slayers about to go into the field.

That means she's right in the line of fire. I consider changing my plans and going straight there, but dismiss the idea immediately. There's no point in getting ahead of this thing - the important thing is to understand what's already happened.

Neville's phone rings then, and it sounds like he's going to be busy for a while, so I decide to do another bit of loose-end tying before my trip. I head over to the Hyperion to let Angel know my plans.

He comes up from the basement at my call, and after pouring us both a cup of coffee, he takes me back down there to talk.

"I'm improving the cage set up," he tells me. "It worked fine for Nina, but it's a bit basic, so I was going to make it a little more comfortable. Not too much, though, because werewolves? Not good with soft furnishings."

"Are you expanding too?" I ask, noting what looks like materials to build another cage.

"Yeah," he grins. "It was Nina's idea. She … recognised someone, you know, in the street. She disappeared, and Nina was rushing home to sit for her sister, but she realised she's not the only one. We … thought I could, you know, advertise the service?"

"You're going to charge people to lock them up?"

"Sooner or later, someone's going to have to pay for it. For now, I've got enough money to keep things ticking over, but yeah, it's going to have to be viable to keep going. I'm going to look into alternatives to charging the individuals because some of them aren't going to be able to pay. It's like before. If the person we helped could afford to pay, then sure, we charged them. If they couldn't, then we didn't charge. I'll need to find some paying clients, but it should be ok. Maybe I'll be able to get some local business to sponsor the cages. I'm not sure who'd be right for that, but in a city this size, there's bound to be someone who wants to sell to werewolves or who's going to gain from not having them rampaging every full moon."

It seems like a rather ambitious plan, but Angel seems sure enough, so I accept what he's saying.

I tell him about my plans, and then inevitably I update him on the case of the disappearing Slayers.

"Can I help?" he asks. "It's a while till the next full moon, and anyway, I could easily get Nina to sort herself out."

"I don't know what you could do," I say. "Giles seems to be working on the problem, and he's got Willow and the Coven working to protect Slayers from being teleported, but progress is slow. I'm hoping to do some snooping while I'm over."

"It started in Glasgow, not London."

"I know. But the organiser of the service lives in Glasgow, and she's invited Dawn and me up there afterwards. I'll get to meet the local Watcher and get a first hand account of what he's been doing."

"I'd like to do something. The idea of … well, all that power falling into the wrong hands. It could be big."

"I know. It's scary. And without any link at all, did you know Faith's in Cleveland?"

"Cleveland? At the Hellmouth?"

"Yeah, Giles is setting up some courses for Slayers there, and he's got Faith involved. I assume Robin's not in the picture any more."

"Cleveland? But that's right in the path of …"

"Yeah. I thought about going there too, forgetting about London, but I don't see how that helps."

"You're probably right, it wouldn't. But I could go, see Faith, find out if I can help. Might not do any good, but I don't see how it could do any harm."

"If you like."

I think about that. There was a time when sending Angel to Faith would be painful. Now? Hardly a twinge. It's liberating. Angel's expression is registering surprise that I'd agree so easily too. He's looking at me closely, as if trying to see something in my eyes that belies my apparent comfort level, but it's obvious that he doesn't see anything. And, you know? In that moment, I see acceptance. Oh, he was moving that way before, I know he was. But now? He knows that he and I are never going to be together like that. And as he comes to realise it, I know it too. I thought it before, but now I'm certain. Whatever the future holds for Angel and me, it's not that. And I'm at peace with it.

* * *


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18 **

**Rothesay, Isle of ****Bute****27 June 2004**

Despite scouring the island of Inchmore, we didn't find anything else of interest. We stayed until after full dark, separating as needed to search every millimetre, and I took advantage of any shade I could find to let me do my share. In the end, we found some corroboration of our previous finds rather than anything new. Gus wasn't happy about crossing back to Bute in the dark, but I persuaded him that with my night vision and his seamanship, we'd be fine. We were, more or less, and it was definitely better than huddling under a tarpaulin during the crossing.

Once there, we returned the boat to the shed, and then decided to spend the remainder of the night aboard. The alternatives - using the cottage or the car outside **-** were both problematic due to the continuing effects of what we can now safely assume was some sort of spell.

First thing this morning, we drove back to the main town on the island - Rothesay. With the sun already high in the sky and a fair sprinkling of people about, there wasn't a lot I could do, so I parked and caught up on some sleep, leaving Gus to start working on getting background information. Soon enough though, the pubs were open, and once I managed to get into one of them, it was easy enough to buy a few drinks and ask some questions. No demons that I could see, but humans can be remarkably useful informants too, especially when they're having drinks bought for them. And what they've got to say is interesting. St. Ninian's point is generally accepted to be haunted. There's even one chap who tells me this whole long story of a ship that ran aground on Inchmore in a terrible storm back in the early eighteen hundreds. His story includes some young man who died in that accident after finding his intended in the arms of another man. He's the one supposed to be doing the haunting, but it sounds a bit too much like a convenient story for the tourists for me. Despite that, there's general agreement among the locals that there's something odd about that place, and similarly, that whatever it is, isn't recent.

When I meet up with Gus, he's got news of Morag's family. On a tip from someone he spoke to early this morning, he went to visit one very elderly local resident who's generally considered to be the fount of all knowledge regarding the islanders. Over cups of tea and home made cakes, she told him the history of Morag's family going back well before her own birth – her mother having been similarly 'interested in her neighbours' as she put it. Apparently, our recently deceased witch/Slayer was originally Morag Stewart. She married, became Morag Kempock at 17, and was divorced by the time she was 20. Why she changed her name to Kirkpatrick seems unknown, but that's what she did some years after her divorce.

She inherited the property at the point from her mother, since her father died young, and she had no siblings. In fact, it looks like Morag's mother also inherited the place from her own mother in remarkably similar circumstances.

With all this information to hand, we take the ferry back to the mainland, and pick up the coast road towards the M8. Our discovery is duly reported to the authorities when we get back to Glasgow. Since it was official Council business that took us to the island, the Council agreed to make the contact, and I'm more than happy to leave them to deal with the police. The various ingredients we found in the cave are to be sent to London for analysis, in an attempt to understand just what sort of mojo Morag was doing there, but not before I've had a go at identifying as many as I can by either sight or smell. Some of them are herbs which, while harmless in themselves, are key to some rather darker magics, and others are beyond my experience. Not that that's too surprising, seeing as how I've generally given magic a wide berth. Still, you pick up a few things if you live long enough.

We spend the day, me sat in front of the computer in Gus' office, and Gus off at various locations around Glasgow, trying to build up a wider picture of Morag's life and family history, and keeping in touch by phone. Between us we manage to confirm something of a pattern. That cottage has been passed from mother to daughter over every generation we've found on record. In fact, none of these women seems ever to have had a son - it's always a single daughter. Oh, some generations there was more than one daughter, but only one ever survived to adulthood. I'm just coming to think that I've got all I'm going to get when Moira comes up and invites herself in for a cup of tea.

Naturally, she wheedles the latest news out of me, and she seems particularly interested in the details. It's only when I start giving some names of Morag's mother and grandmother though, that she looks really worried. It seems that Morag's mother - born Sadie MacEwan - and her grandmother both ring bells.

"I've heard of them," she states quietly. "I didn't make the connection because, well, Morag was a victim, and the name didn't mean anything anyway. But I know of the family. Sadie MacEwan's mother was Alison McCready.

My family was once … connected with that family. Not related, but there was a great deal of collaboration between women who shared significant power. It went back a long time - I've hinted, I think, that the cellar you use to get into the sewer system was once used for magic of a dark nature. By my great-grandmother's day, they had generally moved away from the darker side of things, but they still dabbled when it suited them. It was my mother who finally broke off any connection between the two families. There was an … argument between Sadie and Mother. She never told me the details, but later, I found some hints. My mother kept a diary of sorts - not details of spells, but more her intentions. I read it after she died. It seemed that they were working on some spells which required blood. Mother obtained hers from a local abattoir. However, Sadie wanted to increase the power of the spell and believed that would happen if she used human blood. She tried a few drops of her own and proved that the power was increased, but there were some … side-effects. She wanted to get blood from other sources and was looking at a number of possibilities, the dying, blood banks, down and outs, but there was the probability of real harm coming to the 'donor' of the blood, and my mother refused to be involved. The result was a huge argument. Mother couldn't persuade Sadie to stop her attempts, and as far as I know, they never spoke again. There was never any evidence that Sadie had actually continued her work despite her defiance, and Mother liked to think that she'd thought better of it in the end."

"Looks like Mother didn't know best," I comment, earning a stern look from Moira. "So, what was she trying to do?"

"I don't know what the original purpose was, but after a while, it was general. It was a means of super-charging just about anything you were trying to do."

"What about the side-effects?"

"What Mother found when she used drops of her own blood was that she felt weakened, dizzy. It happened on several occasions with the same result. When Sadie used a drop of Mother's blood, again, it was Mother who felt the weakness."

"Imagine how much super-charging you'd get with Slayer blood at your disposal," I surmise. "And … wait a bit. What if, by using blood, you're siphoning off something from the donor – life force, whatever you call it – maybe that's how you'd go about removing the Slayer powers." I glance over at Moira then, taking in her concerned expression, and then it occurs to me that she might have been able to make the connection before now. "You didn't think about this before?"

"Why would I? The person responsible has been dead for some time, and the effect was a side-effect to other spells, not the point of them."

"Ok," I agree. "I get your point. But there was enough Slayer blood spilt in that cave to account for a lot of life-force transferral if that's what's been going on."

Moira's shoulders slump at that. "But we still have no clue as to how such power is stored or transferred to someone else. Just loosing it? There's no point in that, surely? So, we know, or at least think we know, how it all started. It doesn't get us any closer to stopping it though, does it?"

"No," I agree. The initial excitement at seeing the dots join up dissipates with that knowledge. Still, it's a step in the right direction.

"Have you got a list of what you found there I can borrow?" she asks.

I find the list and put it on the photocopier. She takes the sheet and runs an eye down it. I can see that she's as unhappy at some of the ingredients as I was, but she doesn't say anything.

Moira gets up then, putting the teacup she's been nursing down.

"Off so soon?"

"Well, yes. I want to have a think about this list, and I've got some work to do to finalise the Memorial Service details. Did you know about that?"

"Gus mentioned he was planning on going to London for it."

"And you?"

"Religious services and me? Not what you'd call a happy mix. Anyway, if he's down there, who's going to keep things going up here?"

"You're probably right," she agrees. "It's probably for the best. I'll …"

She pauses, as if temporarily forgetful, which is surprising because she's one woman who doesn't seem to forget anything.

"I'll be returning with some guests," she continues with a smile. "They've never been in Scotland before, so I offered to host them for a few days. You'll probably meet them. One will probably want to talk about the Slayer disappearances."

Watcher types? Only if I don't see them coming first. I've found two half-decent Watchers, and one of them had leave the Council. The chance of any more like that doesn't seem very likely, so I'll just keep out of the way.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter ****19**

**5 July 2004**** - ****London**

The flight to London was strange. Oh, the flight itself was pretty much what I'd have expected from a first class journey. It was Phillip who made it seem odd. After the first impression I got, the reality of spending a day in his company was completely different. Oh, he's good looking. I could see the attendants on the flight looking at him admiringly, and I could appreciate his good looks in an impersonal way, but compared to the first time I met him, the effect was vastly different. I honestly wonder if it's not some mojo'ed clothing like RJ had.

His company left a bit to be desired, too. At first, he chatted generally, then wanted to know details of what I've been working on. I told him about a few things, but for some reason I didn't want to discuss the Slayers problem, and he didn't ask any specific questions. The simple fact that he didn't mention it at all seemed off, as if he's not privy to that level of information. Later though, I had to listen to chapter and verse of his accomplishments in Brunei. What was really irritating was the way he dismissed Faith's input to the whole thing, implying that she just turned up for the applause at the end. Now I know Faith, and that's not her style at all. As for the rest of it, I suspect that someone else would have found it fascinating, but for someone who spent seven years on a Hellmouth, it was pretty low key stuff – even with the obvious embellishment. I made a few polite noises and then pleaded tiredness so I could go to sleep. When I woke again, Philip was gone, and when I spotted him again, he'd found another female passenger who seemed to be enjoying his stories more than I did.

Once in London, I declined Philip's offer of a ride to my hotel as I knew Moira had arranged one. Once in my room, exhaustion took over, and after hanging up my clothes for the service, I crashed.

Moira met me at the hotel the next day and accompanied me to the service. It was pretty much what I expected, but fortunately, Giles was due to fly to Cleveland pretty much directly from the church, and since he was swamped by other Watchers right up until he was whisked off to the airport, I didn't have to hear what he had to say about me being in London. Later, though, when I turned my cell phone on, there was a message from him. Its tone was much gentler than I'd expected, just saying that if he'd known I was coming through London on my way to meet Dawn in Rome then he'd have made a point of spending some time with me. I admit feeling relief that he just sees my being here as a consequence of meeting Dawn rather than something I actively chose to do.

Dawn arrived in due course, and we hit the sights. We did the Changing of the Guard, The Tower of London, Oxford Street, Covent Garden, Leicester Square and, at Dawn's insistence, some museums and art galleries. By the time we were due to fly to Glasgow, we needed an extra suitcase between us.

I've had a lot of time to chat to Moira while Dawn proved she has more stamina for shopping than I do. Oddly, the main subject when we've chatted has been me. Or more exactly, me and Spike. I don't know how we got onto the subject, but once we did, it was like opening the floodgates. I found myself telling her things about Spike and me that I haven't told anyone - that I've hardly allowed myself to think. It was almost healing to talk freely for the first time.

And then yesterday, I woke, realised what the date was, and felt a pang of sadness that there wouldn't be a July Fourth celebration for us. Well, I was wrong. Moira had managed to get both Dawn and me tickets to a big ex-pat celebration in the evening. It wasn't the same as spending it with the whole crowd, but these days, Dawn is my family, and when you add her to turkey dinner and fireworks then it makes for a pretty good celebration.

By the time we're were due to leave for Glasgow, I feel like I've known Moira for years. We fly together, and she keeps Dawn and me entertained with stories of her past throughout the wait at Heathrow and the short flight north. Once we've landed and collected our bags, we're met by a young man - a friend of Moira's called Gus. He's the local Watcher here in Glasgow, and he seems pleasant enough, if a little nervous. There seems to be some sort of silent communication between Moira and him, and I don't mean anything spooky - just the sort of glare and scowl that you sometimes see shared between parents and a child. I must admit that I find that rather amusing as he's a grown man and Moira's just so tiny. I make a mental note to ask her about that later.

Her home is small but lovely. It's part of a much grander building that was once her family home. She doesn't seem at all bitter about occupying a small part of what must have been a huge house.

"Oh, and what would I be needing all that space for? I'd only fill it with more rubbish, and what I've got is as much as I can manage these days."

There's another flat opposite hers, sharing the basement of the building, and she promises that she'll introduce us to the occupant later.

Our room is comfortable, and Dawn and I spend some time unpacking before we join Moira in her living room. It's a small space but it's packed with memories. I begin go see what she meant about 'filling it with rubbish', but it's obvious that this 'rubbish' has a high sentimental value.

Gus came in with us, and he's just finishing a cup of tea when we've finished unpacking. He stands to go but Moira stops him.

"Wait, Gus. Now, Dawn. Would I be right in thinking that you've left lots of friends back in Rome?"

"Er, yes," Dawn agrees, not quite sure what's going on.

"Well, I understand that young people keep in touch these days - all over the world - with something called … instant messaging?

"Yeah," Dawn' answers a bit more surely this time. "I had hoped that Buffy would have a computer in our apartment already, but since she hasn't, I'll just have to sort that out when we get there. The time difference with LA's going to make it difficult, though."

"Well, there's only an hour between here and Rome, so that won't be too hard, now will it?"

She turns to Gus before continuing. "Now I know you can spare use of your computer upstairs for a while, can't you?"

"Er, yes. I was going to make some phone calls."

"Good. Why don't you go up and chat to your friends. I'm sure you've got a lot to share, what with the time you spent in London."

"Yeah," Dawn agrees, getting up. It hasn't escaped my notice that she's been watching Gus with a lot of interest since he met us. Gus, on the other hand, has been treating Dawn as an adult, rather than a teen, and that's the sort of thing that always goes down well with my sister, who has honestly believed herself a full member of the adult world for as long as I can remember.

Once she's gone, I wait for Moira to explain what just happened. I know that there was more to it than a wish for Dawn to keep up with her friends, but I admit that I've got no idea what it could be.

"Buffy," she says softly as soon as the thunder of Dawn ascending a flight of stairs dies away.

"Ok, what needed a Dawn-free atmosphere?"

"I've got to know you quite well these last few days, haven't I?"

Wow. Now I really wonder what's going on. If I was getting any sort of tingle, I'd almost expect to find a serpent climbing out of her skull like that time in the Double Meat Palace, or something equally bizarre. But this isn't the Hellmouth, so I just answer, "Yeah, and I though I knew you too."

"Oh Buffy, please don't worry. I only want what's best for you … and someone I've grown to care about. He came here, trying to find a life for himself. He was scared to mess things up for anyone - most of all you - but a little bit for himself too. But he's so stubborn. Wouldn't listen to me, and … Well, apart from anything else, I know that there's more than just your lives at stake here. I can't explain how I know it, but I do. It was as if, when I met him, part of him was missing, and I sense the same thing about you. So, interfering old biddy that I am, I decided to do something about it."

I try to speak, get her to slow down and explain what on earth she's saying, but she just puts a hand up to stop me.

"Please, Buffy. I know you're confused, but I think it'll all be clear in a little while. I'm just going across to the other flat to get someone. Just stay where you are."

And she leaves, and I sit wondering just what sort of 'through the rabbit hole' world I've dropped into. I hear a door opening and a voice, deep and familiar even though I can't hear what's being said. A moment later, I hear Moira's voice close to her door.

"Just go on in, I'll be right behind you."

I hear footsteps approaching and look up.

* * *


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**5 July 2004**** - ****Glasgow**

I see her. I see her there, where I least expected to see her, and I freeze. I don't know how long I stand there, staring, willing my brain to come up with something to say, or at least show me a different picture, but it does neither. Her expression is shocked, and she's doing a fish impersonation which I suspect rather mirrors my own. And then, like the coward I am when it comes to her, I turn around, desperate to get away from the look of pain I know will replace the shock.

Morag's behind me, still on the other side of the front door. She mouths something silently and gestures. I see a flash, and then there's a cloudiness between us.

"Spike, go and talk to her. I've put a barrier up. It'll only last an hour or until I remove it, but while it lasts, you won't be able to use either the door or the windows. You've run far enough. Talk to her. Explain it to her. If, when you've talked, you both decide you never want to see each other again, then fine. But if you don't …"

She smiles at me, and she still looks like Mrs. M., but now I know better. She's a fiend in human form.

"Oh," she adds as she turns away. "I'll just be upstairs. And try not to destroy my home. It may not be much but it's important to me."

She disappears from view then, and I turn around, looking into the living room, more afraid of this than any monster I've ever faced.

I walk slowly the few steps to meet my doom, but I'm met before I reach the living room by the source of my current terror.

Buffy. My heart seems to expand in my chest just to look at her. She's … as lovely as ever. More so, maybe. The strain I remember from Sunnydale - the long-term tiredness and worry - is gone and she looks like she's been happy. And then I realise. Of course she's happy. She's got Angel, and there's no ban on happies any more, is there?

"Spike?"

Her voice is soft, and now I notice there're tears in her eyes.

"Yes, it's me."

"What? How?"

"Why don't we sit down and I'll tell you."

She nods, and I walk past her to lead the way back to the living room. She sits on one of the two armchairs and I choose the other. She's looking at me, waiting for an explanation, but words just don't come.

"How long?" she asks.

I'm not sure what she's asking.

"How long have you been back this time?"

"Buffy, Love, I wasn't gone."

"What?"

"The battle in LA? I was ok after that. A bit burned and scratched, but ok."

"But you lost your memory, right?" The shock seems to have worn off and it's being replaced with something more familiar - defensiveness with a side of anger.

"No."

"No? No?" Her voice is getting louder. "So, what did you do? Why didn't you let anyone know you were ok? Why?"

"I … "

"We thought you were dead. Did you know that? I had just found out that you were back, and then you were dead. Do you know what that did to me?"

She stiffens, concentrating on something, then takes a deep breath.

"Moira," she says, pointing at her head. "It's freaky enough when Willow does that sort of thing. Anyway, she's telling me to give you a chance to explain, so you've got it. And it had better be good."

She's bristling with impatience and fury, but she's doing her best to keep it under control.

"After the battle, I couldn't find anyone. I got carried away by a dragon, and when I killed it, well, it sort of landed on me and I got knocked out. By the time I came round, there was no sign of anyone, and it seemed easier to go home rather than trying to find the others."

The hard glint in her eyes hasn't diminished at all yet, and now she's tapping her foot.

"Then, next day I was wakened by Blue - Illyria. She … told me what happened. That Wes didn't make it, and Charlie was in a bad way, although I know he made it in the end. And … that Angel got his reward."

The foot's still tapping. She's not going to make this any easier for me.

"She said you were on your way. Way I figured it, you and Angel had everything you wanted now, and I'd just be in the way. I … couldn't bear to … see you with him. Nothing's changed, I'm still a selfish bastard. I want you to be happy, Buffy, but …"

"And who told you I was rushing to be with Angel?"

"No one. I just … knew. Angel's human. It's what you always wanted. I … couldn't be around."

"Spike!" she yells. "Do you have any idea what I went through when I heard you were gone? Knowing you had been back for months but hadn't bothered to let me know, that was painful enough, but then that you'd done that and then gone and died to save the world again? It almost broke my heart."

She's crying now - actual tears - but there's anger there despite that talk of a broken heart. I want to go and hold her, but I'm frozen to my seat without any idea what to do for the best.

"I'm sorry. I thought … "

"What did you think?" she demands, anger more obvious than ever. "Buffy can't really feel anything so I can do what I want? Buffy doesn't matter? Buffy hurt me and now it's my turn? What did you think?"

"I … thought, you already thought I was gone, even though I came back, so … it was better to leave things."

"Better? Better for me?"

"Well, yeah. You … and Angel even."

"Me and Angel. What is it with you two? Both making assumptions about my feelings and neither giving me the chance to decide for myself. Both doing what you think is for the best when if they'd only ask me, you might find things aren't how you think."

"What do you mean, Buffy?" I ask. I think I know what she could mean, but I'm not going that way unless I hear it in words of one syllable.

"What do I mean? Just because you've been around for longer than me, you've both taken on this 'I know best' attitude. Well, let me tell you, if it comes to what I want or what I need, then maybe, just maybe, I could give you some pointers."

Ok, that's not what I thought she was saying, but it doesn't discount it either.

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I didn't mean to hurt you. I never did. When… when I first came back, I was a bloody ghost, and then, when I got my body back, things were getting hairy in LA and I was needed there. And then you were with the Immortal, and … Wait. You're not still with the bloody Immortal, are you?"

"Why should you care who I'm with? You don't even care enough to let me know you're alive."

"Just answer the question, please. Are you with the Immortal?"

She's silent, looking at me, ready to yell again, but then she deflates a little, and answers quietly. "No."

"But you and Angel …"

"No, not Angel."

"But … No happiness clause, no sunlight allergy, little Angels in the future?"

"I … When I was seventeen, the best gift anyone could have given me would have been humanity for Angel. I would've done almost anything for it. But it didn't happen. He went away, and I grew up. Maybe, if he hadn't gone away, we would've grown apart anyway, I don't know. I do know that him leaving the way he did left things open. I never had the chance to look at how I felt about Angel after that. The feelings were always overwhelmed by what I felt then. How lost I was without him. How happy I had been when we were together. The reality …," she pauses, shaking her head slightly as if to stop that particular thought. "Angel and I are not together, and I don't think we ever will be. Anyway, I'm not sure I want to have to fight a werewolf for him."

"Nina? She's still around?"

"Yeah. You … know about her?"

"Met her a time or two."

"And you were still sure he and I'd be together now?"

"Well, … yeah. She's a nice enough bird, but not really much competition."

She seems unsure whether to smile or frown at that comment. It gives me a moment to digest what she's just said, and I'm torn. She's just given me the best news I could have had, but I know I've ruined things between us.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I shouldn't have run from LA. I should've … I was just so terrified of having my heart ripped out again. And seeing you with Angel? That would've done it."

She nods, seeming to understand.

"You've made quite a hit with Moira," she comments, wiping her eyes and trying to change the tone of things.

"She's a special lady," I agree.

"I thought so too. Until I realised that she's been playing me."

"She's been trying to persuade me to call you, but the longer it went, the harder it was. Truth is, I should've called you as soon as I was back properly. It seemed like an anticlimax. I'd died a hero, and I wanted you to remember that rather than to see the mediocre creature I've become."

"What about what I said?"

I must look puzzled because she explains. "At the end. At the Hellmouth. I told you I loved you."

"Yeah, well …"

"Spike, you of all people should know that I don't say things like that unless they're true. Hell, I don't say them even if they are true."

"I know you believed it … at some level, but that was Spike the Hero, all glowy and about to be turned to dust. The real me … the me that's inside … He's different. More … ordinary."

"It's all you. Spike, I think that after all we've been through together, that I know the best and the worst of you. It's all you. You're capable of causing pain, and you're capable of dying to save the world. You're capable of loving someone who's done her best to drive you away. You're capable of fighting for a soul because of love. If there's one thing you've never been, it's ordinary."

"I …" I can't take this. If I sit here, I'm going to start blubbing like a schoolboy. I get up, and walk out into the hallway. I stand there, facing the wall, just trying to collect myself. I don't know what to think. If what she's just said is true then I must've thrown away my chance to be with her. If I'd called when I got back … if … but it's too late now. I hurt her again. Even with the best of intentions, it seems that's what I do. And after that, she couldn't still care. Whatever she felt must be burned away by …"

I didn't hear her creep up behind me, but I feel her hand on my shoulder.

"Spike. Don't run again. Please. I … I think I'd like some time alone - some time to think. Moira's agreed to take down the barrier. Please be here when I've had a chance to digest all this. Promise me?"

I turn around, taking in the red eyes and damp cheeks.

"I promise," I answer.

When I tear my eyes away from hers, it's because with a hissing sound, the barrier at the front door has disappeared. I walk through it and back to my own flat in silence. I could do with some time alone too. Now, I wonder if there's any of that beer left? No. No beer. I need to think, to really understand how much I've hurt her. The one thing I vowed I'd never do again.

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**Glasgow****, 5 July 2004**

I sit for a moment in these unfamiliar surroundings, filled with a sense of unreality. Life and death haven't got the same meaning for me they have for most people. I know that. With my history, it couldn't be the same.

The next feeling is … almost guilt. I should have known that he wasn't gone. However Spike eventually leaves this world, it won't be as an anonymous pile of dust. Last time, he took Sunnydale with him. The least I could have expected this time was a chunk of LA.

I feel his ring then. It's under my top, only the chain visible. I've taken to touching it whenever I feel vulnerable, trying to remember how powerful he used to make me feel. More than any other time, fighting with him, in the sense of alongside him, was when I felt strongest. He gave me strength.

After guilt comes a recurrence of the anger. I feel it building and with it the need to hit something … anything. I look around, but all I see is a room filled with precious memories and I know there's nothing here to fit the bill. I check my watch, but it'll be a while before dark, and I don't see much point in looking for vamps in full sun. Unless they're blonde and irritating and apparently living in the flat opposite. I imagine myself hitting him, feeling the satisfaction of giving him a bloody nose, but that feeling dies in a wave of nausea as I remember hitting him before. I remember that time when Warren Mears and the others tried to make me believe I'd killed that girl. Spike may have been misguided thinking that hiding the body was the solution to the whole problem, but what he did, he did out of love for me, and I rewarded him by beating him to a bloody pulp. I haven't thought of that for a long time - avoiding memories that are too painful.

That doesn't stop the anger, though. Isn't it enough that Angel wanted to decide what's best for me? He did it back in Sunnydale by leaving, and recently in LA by assuming we'd be together. What's with Spike thinking the same thing? But then, I realise with a lurch in my stomach, maybe he did it for his own sake. Maybe he just thought that me being a part of his life again would be bad for him, would hurt him. In fact, the more I think about it, the more true that seems. He couldn't cope with the pain he'd suffer seeing Angel and me together. I … get that. I couldn't cope with seeing him with someone else, and that person being someone I've already got issues with - well, the phrase 'rubbing salt in the wound' comes to mind.

But why would he assume I'd run to Angel now there's no curse? The reason for that hits me. How many times did I imply or even state that he was just a convenient replacement for the one vampire who I loved? I must have convinced him pretty well - and come to think of it, he's not the only one I convinced. When Dawn heard that Angel had been rewarded, she assumed we'd be together, and, for the first time it occurs to me that Giles keeping me in LA might not have been without its ulterior motives either. Well, that's good, because whatever guilt I was feeling at coming here when he was assuming I was going to Rome has just disappeared in a puff of righteous indignation. Giles and I are so going to have words.

And then something else occurs to me. In London, when she described her home to us, Moira mentioned that the whole building belonged to her. She said that there were offices, and two flats, and that the other one was often used by a Council employee. Does that mean that Spike's been working for the Council? I know that Gus is the Watcher around here, but Giles talked about 'people' in Glasgow. I'm pretty sure he didn't mean Moira, so where's the rest of this team?

And how did Spike come to think of Glasgow anyway? It occurs to me that he'd have been drawn to the place where Slayers first disappeared, but how did he know about it? The Council wasn't exactly making it general knowledge until very recently, and it's been weeks since he disappeared from LA. Could he be employed by the Council without Giles' knowledge? Not a chance.

Never mind righteous indignation. Right now, the level of anger I'm feeling is way above that. And oddly, I'm even more angry at Giles than at Spike. I just know that me being stationed in LA with Angel and Spike ending up in Glasgow - somewhere I would never have visited without some rather pointed intervention - are linked. It's so like Giles to want to use Spike while trying to keep him under control. And London wouldn't do, would it? Too much chance that I'd have a good reason to be there, and while it's a big city, the Council itself is too full of rumour mills to be sure I wouldn't hear about the Council employing a souled vampire. By leaving him up here, the need for anyone down there to know that he's a vampire has pretty much disappeared – that's always assuming that he doesn't go by the name 'William the Bloody'.

I hear Dawn coming back before I've had a chance to think further. She comes into the living room, a question on her face. I get up, walk to her and put my arms around her - something that's just a little awkward given the height difference. With that feeling of being held, the dam holding everything in place dissolves, and I cry.

At first, she makes soothing noises. As it continues, though, she's getting worried, the tone of her voice changing to something more strident as her panic increases. I try to stop, to tell her what's going on, but even with that resolve, it takes a while before I feel able to speak.

She pulls away a bit, her hands on my shoulders, and I swallow carefully before speaking.

"Buffy, what is it? Is someone hurt? What?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. I've … It's Spike. He's alive."

"Buffy, what're you saying? Have you had a call? Is he …?"

"He's in the other flat. He's been here for, I don't know how long, but long enough for Moira to decide to bring us here to see him."

"Spike? But …What's happened to him? Is he … killing again? Or …"

"No," I interrupt her quickly. "I don't think he's killing again. I don't know, but I think he might even be working for the Council."

She nods at me, her face full of determination. And then, to my amazement, she turns on her heel, and walks towards the door.

"So, what's his excuse? Did he lose his memory? Was he kidnapped? Why did he let us believe he was dead … again?"

"No, … nothing like that. It's …"

"If you say 'complicated', I may just scream," she warns. I just shrug my shoulders because that's exactly what I was going to say. "The other flat? That door I noticed on the way in?"

I nod, still not sure what she's planning.

The next thing I hear is her thumping on a door. I go after her, worried about what she's planning, but when I get there, it's just in time to see Spike's expression an instant before Dawn slaps him across the face.

He looks stunned. He doesn't react to the slap, but then a slap from Dawn's going to hurt him more emotionally than physically. She seems disappointed by the lack of reaction, and even from behind I can see that her anger's coiled tight. Oddly, seeing her like that allows my own anger at Spike to cool.

"Dawn," I call, walking to the doorway.

She turns around, looking ready to pounce at me.

"What? Why is he still here? He doesn't get to just leave and not tell us he's back. He doesn't get to pretend he died. The least you deserve is knowing."

I'm trying to find words to tell her that she doesn't need to be angry with him for me, but then I realise that that isn't the problem. She's angry with him for leaving her. He left to go and get his soul, and she's never quite forgiven him for that. All the rest has just compounded her feeling of being abandoned.

"I'm sorry."

The words are quiet, and come from Spike, while Dawn and I are looking at each other.

"Not good enough!" she answers before turning her back on him and marching towards me.

Spike's expression as he watches her walk away is stricken. I don't think he's ever looked so vulnerable, and I feel the need to touch him, to take that vulnerability from him, but I know it's too soon.

I don't know if this life he's built for himself has room for me, and although I see him and feel that this time we could actually get it right, there's so much hurt on both sides to overcome that there's a risk that it'll all just degenerate into more pain. And that's the one thing I won't do to him again. If I have to hurt him by walking away, then that's what I'll do. If I don't walk away, and if he wants me in his life, I've got to be as certain as I can be that it's real.

He's watching me as I stand in the doorway after Dawn's pushed her way past me. I hear the familiar sound of a slamming door and he catches my eye with a look that says that he recognises that sound too. I turn to go and speak to her about not damaging Moira's doors - I'm not sure I'm the right person to talk to her about not hitting people - and I can feel his eyes on my back right up until I close the door between us.

To my surprise, before I get to the bedroom, Dawn comes out, a jacket over her shoulders.

"Going somewhere?" I ask.

"For a walk. There's a park not far from here – Gus mentioned it. I just need … to get out of here for a while."

"Ok," I answer. "Have you got your phone?"

She pats her pocket and nods. "Yeah, it's right here. Look, I just need to, you know, think. Unless you need me here?"

She looks at me, trying to read the answer on my face.

"No," I answer. "I need to think, and I'll be better alone."

She nods at that and walks out of the door.

Since she's left our bedroom, I decide to go in there, but I'm no sooner comfortable than I hear Moira coming back. She knocks on the door, and I tell her to come in.

She doesn't speak, just looks at me carefully.

"Good," she says, without any preamble.

"Good? What's good?"

"You are. At least, your aura is. Oh, you're stressed, and you've had a shock, but there's nothing seriously damaged by this afternoon's events."

"Oh. Good. Nothing seriously damaged. Tell me. Why didn't you just tell me he was alive? It would've been a whole lot less of a shock."

"Yes, I dare say it would. But telling you, I felt I'd be breaking a confidence."

"And bringing me here wasn't?"

"Well, if you're pedantic, then it probably was. But bringing you here also has the effect of letting him talk to you, giving him a chance to explain."

"Yeah, he explained," I agree.

"I know, I know. His reasoning leaves a bit to be desired. The truth is, as far as I can tell, that he was scared. He wouldn't admit it – at least, he wouldn't admit the extent of his fear. I think that every time he thought about contacting you, he knew things would change. He thought that you'd think less of him for coming back, and he knew you'd be angry that he didn't get in touch right away, and then everything just spiralled out of control for him."

"Yeah, that's more or less what he said."

"So?"

"So what?"

"Can you forgive him?"

Forgive him? What for? For being scared to tell me he was back? For running away because he thought I'd cause him pain? Moira's still waiting for an answer.

"I think so, but maybe he won't be able to forgive me."

"I think he already has, at least as far as anything major is concerned. That doesn't mean that he's not still scared. Again, he wouldn't admit it, but you've got more power over him in that little finger of yours than anything or anyone else ever has. He's always been led, for better or worse, by those he loves, and I think he's enjoyed being his own man these past months. And yes, I'm including some of his time in Los Angeles in that."

"It would be wrong to take that away from him, wouldn't it?"

"Of course it would."

"Then, maybe we should go. When's the next flight to London? Or do they fly direct to the US from Glasgow? We could …"

"You could what? Run? If it wasn't right for him to do it, why would it be right for you to?"

"But you said …"

"I said it would be wrong to take the independence he's earned of late. I didn't say it would be wrong to be part of his life."

I'm mulling over what she said, and she turns to leave.

"Have … have you spoken to him? Since?"

"Spoken? Not really. I did pop in and take a look at his aura, although there wasn't really much point in that. He wears his heart on his sleeve, doesn't he? He's pretty upset, although mainly at himself. I think he might have run already except that you made him promise not to, didn't you?"

I nod. I didn't even think about that – not really. I just asked for his promise, and, of course, he gave it, never mind that it would cause him pain.

"I'm going to put on the kettle. Shall I make you some tea?"

"Thanks," I answer, my voice steadier than it has any right to be.

She brings it a few minutes later, then leaves me to think. And before I know it, I've fallen asleep, worn out by what-if's and why's.

* * *


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**Glasgow****5 July 2004**

I go back inside after she closes the door. I didn't think I could feel worse than I did when I saw the proof that I hurt Buffy, but I was wrong. Dawn, she's a kid, for all she pretends not to be. And I let her down. I know it. I let her down by not being in Sunnydale when she needed me, when everything started going wrong. I let her down when I hurt Buffy, when I wasn't someone she could rely on any more. I knew that. I mean, she made it clear enough when I was in Sunnydale, what with threatening to set me on fire and all, even if she was mainly angry at what happened between Buffy and me. Still, I'd sort of hoped that with time, she might have forgiven me. And maybe she had when she thought I was dead, but now?

Buffy. Despite everything, I actually felt a glimmer of hope. She looked at me, and it was like the old days, the two of us, recognising Dawn's temper and just knowing that we had to deal with it. And she hasn't staked me, or even hit me yet. Still, that might mean she cares so little that I'm not worth the effort.

I go into the living room where I've got a couple of books I took from upstairs. They're not that special – just what you might call primers in magic, but one of them's actually pretty good, explaining the purpose of different types of ingredient. Not that I'm going to solve all the problems, it's just a question of trying to understand the general principles - maybe enough that I'd at least understand the basis of a plan to put it right.

I wonder if Giles will keep his word and send someone to stake me if Buffy doesn't. The thought comes to me despite my best intention to keep reading the book. Truth is, if that's what happens, then so be it. I'd like to be the one who finally works out what's happening to the Slayers, but now that Buffy's on the job …

With an effort, I stop myself. I give up for now, and switch on my newly-acquired TV. Not actually that much choice since I haven't signed up for a satellite dish or cable, but there's an old episode of that medical thing – you know – man from the coroner's office. Quincy, that's it. It's suitably mindless and I just need something to take my mind off the fact that I don't know where I am any more.

Early evening becomes late evening, and it's even dark enough, what with the cloud cover, that I could probably venture out without having to worry about frying. I'm aware of noises from next door. Generally, I don't hear a lot. These old buildings, the walls are thick and solid. Most sound is muffled even to vamp hearing, but I know that there's something going on. I assume it's Buffy ranting about something, and I can't help it, I listen.

Not that I have to, since a couple of minutes later, someone's thumping on my door. I jump up to answer it, and find Buffy on the other side.

"Spike, it's Dawn. I … I know … I don't have any right to ask, but I need your help."

I turn away from her long enough to pick up my jacket and follow her outside. The look of relief on her face as I turn back to her is enough to let me know that she really didn't know that I'd drop everything for her.

"What happened?"

"After she spoke to you, she went out. She said she was going to a park Gus mentioned. I didn't even question it. By the time I was getting worried and spoke to Moira, she'd been gone a couple of hours. Turns out this park's not just round the corner. I've tried calling her cell, but it's going straight to her messaging service. It's probably out of charge – either that or she's turned it off."

"Right," I answer. I check the time. "How long's she been gone?"

"Over three hours now. When I found out which park Gus mentioned to her, he offered to drive me over there. We've spent the last half hour or more looking for her, asking around. No one remembers seeing her, and there's no sign she was ever there."

"You called the police?"

"Er … no. I thought … you know, if you would help, you'd be more likely to find her."

"Police here aren't quite as bad as Sunnydale, you know, but you're probably right. Let's get outside and we'll see if I can pick up something. Where's Gus?"

"He's checking the streets around here in the car. He dropped me back here to get you."

Humans all smell. I don't mean that in an insulting way, it's just, you know, predator here. Humans are my natural prey. Doesn't matter how clean you are, how recently you showered, there's a smell. Best smells, though, come from humans who're in an emotional state. Fear, anger, misery, they all have a distinct tang that's different from person to person but which share some common characteristics. I've smelt out an angry Dawn often enough in the past that I soon pick it up.

The downside is that while she heads in the general direction of the park, she seems to have been side-tracked by one of the busiest shopping streets in the city. Once there, it's nearly impossible to find her scent among the remains of the scents of hundreds of shoppers who thronged the streets earlier. Even now, with the shops closed, there're still enough people around to confuse the issue.

"What was she doing around here?" Buffy demands as I come up blank yet again. She's angry - at Dawn, but at me too. Well, I'm angry at me too, so I can't blame her. There's just too much around here for me to pick her out.

"Shops must've closed not long after she got here. Where d'you think she'd have gone then?"

"If she didn't come back, then I assume she went to the park."

"Let's go that way, then, and see if I pick up something. If I can't, then we've got to call the police."

Of course, my hunt for Dawn's scent hasn't been helped by the overpowering one that's filling my nostrils - Buffy's fear. Instinctively, I put an arm around her shoulders as I turn her around. As soon as I realise what I've done, I'm ready to take my arm away again, but far from avoiding the contact, she actually leans into it. That seems to have been instinctive too, because she soon straightens up and away from me, so I move my arm then. I pick up the pace, moving towards the park as quickly as we can, but once we're out of the shopping area, we've got to cross a road complex. There, there's not only human scent galore, but that is swamped by the various smells of motor vehicles.

Once we're through that, though, it's a fairly short walk to the entrance to the park, and by the time we're half way there, I pick up the faint essence of Dawn. I make sure, though, waiting until I've had several samples in a row.

"She came this way," I tell her.

"Is there a vamp problem around here?" she demands. Hardly surprising since it's pretty dark by now.

"Not like Sunnydale, but it's a city. Bound to be a few around. Can't say I've found any here, though."

"Why wouldn't she come back if it was getting dark?"

"You know Dawn better than I do, but … thing about being this far north, dusk lasts a long time. It gets dark very gradually, and if you're out in it, it can be difficult to see it happening."

"So she just forgets everything she knows about being safe? She's so grounded when we find her."

At the back of my mind, though, is the possibility that we won't find her, and I know Buffy's thinking the same thing.

We reach the park to find that the gate's been closed for the night. A quick look around to make sure there's no one likely to get nosy, and we both climb over, landing in a pathway with rosebushes up both sides. That path opens out into a wide area with a hill to the left, and another ahead in the distance. I sample the air, trying to get a direction, and decide to move straight ahead. The path is lined with benches at regular intervals, and on the fifth one, the scent of Dawn is strong and different. I've been following diminishing levels of anger, but here, it's fear. I hold a hand up to Buffy, motioning her to stop while I see if there's anything else of note.

It's fear, and she wasn't alone. There's at least one other fear scent here, and there's blood too. There's one more scent, and I follow my nose to its source - a plastic carrier bag with some empty bottles. I don't need to look to know what it is, but I do anyway. Bloody Alco pops. Smell and taste like sugar, but they pack a wallop. If Dawn's been drinking that stuff, I'm going to kill whoever introduced her to it.

Buffy's looking at me, but then lifts one of the bottles to her nose and cautiously sniffs it.

"Alcohol tarted up to taste like a soft drink," I explain. "Lethal stuff, but popular with kids who don't know any better."

"You think Dawn's been drinking?"

"I don't know, but she was here for a while, and I think she was scared."

"Scared? Of what? Human? Demon?"

"Don't know, love. Can't smell demon, but some demons don't smell of much. I can smell blood, though, but it's not Dawn's. She wasn't alone, because Dawn's fear isn't the only terror I can sense"

It's too dark to see anything much, so I don't see any point in hanging around here.

"Reckon we should see if the trail continues," I suggest.

Buffy agrees, and we continue along the same path for a bit, before following another one left, up the hill. Sure enough, the scent continues - Dawn, but not alone. Only question is, did she walk or was she taken?

The trail continues all the way to the edge of the park, and we're met with another fence that needs to be climbed. This time, though, the other side is a long terrace of houses, many of which have been turned into hotels or student residences.

At number 44, the scent stops, so I stand back and leave Buffy to go and knock. Well, would you open your door if you saw me late at night? Not if you had any sense you wouldn't. But, if there's one thing all those years with Dru taught me, is that if you want a door opened, you send a helpless-looking woman to knock. Of course Dru was anything but helpless, and Buffy doesn't even need an invitation.

The person who approaches looks young through the glass panel of the door. Young and female, but not Dawn. She opens the door, though.

"I'm looking for my sister. I heard someone say they thought she might be here. American, tall, long brown hair." Buffy's voice sounds concerned, but she's marshalled the rising panic that I know she's feeling.

"American?" the girl replies in a distinctly American accent. "She should fit right in here then. What's her name?"

"Dawn. Her name's Dawn."

"No Dawn here, at least not living here."

She turns her back on us and yells into the house. "Anyone know a Dawn?"

"Dawn Summers," Buffy adds, and the girl repeats the name.

Buffy might be standing quietly for now, but I know she's one step away from pushing her way inside.

There's a thundering sound from the stairs, and a second later, Dawn's pushing past the door, and hugging Buffy.

"Dawn, I assume," the door-opener says. "Suppose you'd better come in, then."

Buffy looks at Dawn, checking her over. There're a few scratches, but nothing big that I can see. Dawn's not having it, though, and insists on pulling Buffy inside.

"They can come in, can't they?" she asks and gets a nod of agreement. From the look I get as I walk in, though, it looks like the other girl didn't spot me before giving the invitation. Still, it's enough, and there's no barrier at the door to stop me. Dawn drags Buffy up that same staircase, and along a short corridor, past a kitchen, to one of the rooms there. I follow, unsure what to do for the best.

Once inside, it's obvious where the scent of blood was coming from. There's a girl, lying on one of the twin beds in the room, while another girl is maniacally trying to clean a recent neck wound, although she's probably going to make it worse, the way she's going.

"What happened?" Buffy demands, but she's already moving towards the bed and taking a look at the injury.

"We were in the park, just chatting, and it got dark. I didn't even realise it was that late, and the girls were taking me with them so I could call you, and there was a vamp. He … he got Susie, didn't think Jeannie and I were a threat, but I found a pointed bit of fence panel, and …"

The other girl - Jeannie, I assume - looks to be in almost as bad a state as Susie, even if the cause is fear rather than actual injury. She moved aside for Buffy without complaint and retreated to the other bed where she's now sitting and hugging her knees, rocking slightly.

"Why haven't you called an ambulance?" I demand.

"N … no." That from Jeannie.

"Why not? She's been hurt. Surely …"

"No."

"What do you think?" I ask Buffy. I don't really need to hear her opinion; I can hear the girl's heart beat, which tells me she's scared, but not too bad otherwise.

"She's lost some blood, but I've seen a lot worse."

I relax at that. "What's the deal here?" I ask, addressing the words to Dawn.

"I don't know the details, just that it's a group from Iowa. They've come to attend some summer classes or something."

"Who's in charge?"

That gets a response from Jeannie, who jumps up from her position on the bed.

"No, you can't tell her. She'll send us home."

"And why would that be?"

"We … we had a few drinks. It's not illegal or anything, we're both eighteen, but … our parents, well, the Church isn't happy about liquor at any age."

"Church?"

"Yeah."

She's too shaken up to say any more - so I give up for now.

Buffy finishes dressing Susie's neck and turns to Dawn. I know that look - I've been on the receiving end of it a time or two.

"And you, Dawn? You're not legal, even here. Have you been drinking too?"

"No! I didn't. Well, just a sip, to, you know, try it."

She certainly doesn't seem to be under the influence of anything, and it looks like Buffy comes to the same conclusion as she relaxes a bit, but the inquisition isn't over yet.

"Why didn't you call? I've been worried sick."

"My cell's out of charge. I was coming here to call you, but then I realised that I don't know your cell number - I just speed dial from mine - and I don't know Moira's number. I was going to ask if they could look it up or something, but Susie looked really pale, and Jeannie, well, she was hysterical. It took us ages to carry Susie up here and sneak her into the house."

"And all the sneaking was because you were scared someone'd find you'd been drinking?" I address my question at Jeannie. She's still looking pretty spooked, but I wonder which has scared her more - being found out or nearly becoming a snack food for a vamp.

She nods, her eyes pleading for understanding.

"Well, looks like you were lucky," Buffy announces. "Susie here'll be fine. She'll need to keep that wound clean, but it should be ok. Make sure she drinks plenty of fluids in the next few days. I'd be happier if you had a doctor look at it, but I'm not going to force the issue."

A lot of the tension goes out of Jeannie's body at that. I, on the other hand, think she needs another good scare.

"I hope you've learned your lesson. Not about the booze - that's neither here nor there. There're things out there that'll kill you and worse, given half a chance. Sitting around in a park after dark isn't clever. You're bloody lucky we didn't find your lifeless bodies down there. Do you understand that?"

I've got both Jeannie's and Susie's attention at that, and both of them are looking at me with something akin to fear. Part of me enjoys the feeling, while another part of me feels slightly sick at the picture I've painted.

"Dawn, get your things."

Buffy's voice is unnaturally calm, and I sense some yelling to come.

Rather belatedly, I pull my mobile out and call Moira so she can stop worrying, and Gus, asking him if he can pick us up. He agrees, but while I can tell him the street number, I don't actually know the street name.

"What's the address here?" I ask Jeannie. She answers and I relay that to Gus.

"He'll be here in five minutes," I report. Buffy just nods.

Twenty minutes later, Gus drops us outside my place. Buffy ushers Dawn into Moira's, but stops to speak to me before following her inside.

"Thanks."

"No problem. You know I'll always help if I can."

It's no more than the truth, but it sounds bloody stupid.

"Will you? I mean, … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to doubt what you said. It's just … it's been a confusing day. I don't know what to think any more."

"I know what you mean," I agree. "But I made you a promise. I said I'd protect Dawn to the end of the earth. I don't make promises like that lightly."

"I know. It's just … "

"I know, I buggered off out of your life and didn't let you know about it. Stupid thing to do, I realise that now. There's no way fate was going to let me renege on my promise anyway."

"Is that all it is?"

Without my superior hearing, I doubt I'd have heard it.

"You mean, is it just because I feel obliged to protect Dawn?"

She nods.

"Bloody hell, woman. I care about Dawn. I'd be batting for her even if I hadn't promised."

"And …"

"And you. God help me, but I still love you. You're the centre of my world, even when you didn't know I was alive. Can't change it, I can only live with it best I can."

"So, what're we going to do?"

"Don't bloody know, but I'd say the next step's up to you."

I know it doesn't mean anything, but the next thing she does is step towards me, put her arms around my neck and kiss me on the lips. It's quick, and I've barely got time to respond, before she pulls away and runs for her door. I'm left with my lips tingling and every other part of me wanting to go and bring her back again, but I'm still none the wiser as to where I stand with her. I go inside and get myself one of those cans of beer. I haven't made it to a chair before I hear raised voices from the other flat. Sounds like Buffy's making it clear just how scared she was. And, oddly, Dawn's not screaming back. Maybe, just maybe, she's learned her lesson.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23 ****- Glasgow, ****6 July 2004**

It's later when I finally get to bed. Dawn and I had words when we got back, and Moira was kind enough to give us some space to get that done. Afterwards, Dawn just wanted to be alone, so I left her to get ready for bed while I joined Moira in the living room. It wasn't long before she too went to bed, and I was left alone to think. I seem to have been doing a lot of that since I got here, and maybe it's overdue. I've spent so much time lately trying to block out thoughts of what might have been or even what will be.

Spike made his feelings clear. He still loves me. Despite the fact that he didn't contact me after Sunnydale, and let me think he was gone again after LA, he still loves me. My first reaction was disbelief. I mean, you love someone, you let them know you're not dead, don't you? But then … if Dawn hadn't found me when I came back, would I have jumped off that tower again? And if I didn't, would I have gone home? At first, everything was just a succession of painful experiences, but after a while, if I had known that my friends had pulled me back from heaven, would I have gone to them or run in the opposite direction? Maybe I'd just have hidden away somewhere that I didn't have to be the Slayer, surrogate mother and all round team leader. I don't know. And when I think about it that way, then maybe I understand why he didn't get in touch. He probably thought that calling me would have put him right back where he started, and I'd made it clear that we didn't have a future of the sort he wanted. So, no, I don't doubt his sincerity. The question is, what do I want?

That's harder. I know that I've missed him more than I thought possible. I know that if he gave me that look - the tongue-behind-the-teeth thing he does, then my knees'd go weak. Nothing new in that respect, but other things have changed. I know now that demon does not equal evil. Yes, many, if not most demons don't have a moral structure that I'd recognise, but there are some who seem to manage just fine without the luxury of a soul. And then there's Spike. His demon should consider people as mobile food, but he stopped seeing things that way long before he got his soul. Ok, it took the chip to get him to stop and think about it, but there's more to it than that. He's made that clear over and over again. I'm just too dim to have seen it until too late.

Then again, is it too late? He loves me, but would he be willing to forget how badly I treated him? I mean, we parted as friends, and all that seemed to be in the past, but if we were to reintroduce the physical side of our relationship, would that just reopen the old wounds? I don't know.

I'm going round in circles, so I decide to do a mental list. What do I want? In the short term, I want him to be in my life again. But how? Tempting as it might be, I know that we can't just jump into anything more than friendship. We got into sex for all the wrong reasons last time. At least, my reasons were wrong. If there's going to be anything physical between us, we're going to have to get there slowly and carefully.

He seems different. Oh, I know he says he's 'always been bad', but I'm not so sure. He's like two different people in many ways. There's the brash, obnoxious, cocky Spike that he puts on sometimes - well, he used to be like that all the time, but I suspect it's all a front to hide who he really is. It's almost as if he was playing a part. Vampires are bad, evil things, so he's going to be bad and evil. What's underneath is … vulnerable. I've seen that vulnerability. Not during a fight. No, he's not physically vulnerable. His vulnerability is emotional. If there's one thing I do know about Spike, it's that when he loves, there're no half-measures and that makes him vulnerable. That's how I was able to hurt him so badly. And now? That cocky Spike just isn't there. Maybe that's because he's actually made a life for himself where he doesn't have to keep proving himself, where he's got friends of his own, people who care about him. And what does that say about me and my friends? It says we hurt him too much for him to show us his true self other than in short bursts.

Oddly, the knowledge of his vulnerability, rather than making me wary of him, actually makes me care more for him. Don't get me wrong. I'm not an earth-mother type. Given the job I've done of being a mother-substitute for Dawn, I'd say that's pretty obvious.

To be honest, Spike at his cockiest is also Spike at his most obnoxious. He's rude and crude and boastful and … he's only like that when he's hurting - when I'd hurt him. And that last night we spent together, when he didn't want me to walk back upstairs - when he needed me as much as I needed him - that's the man I saw tonight.

He made it clear that the ball's in my court, but I feel like I've left my racquet at home, and I'm suddenly short-sighted and can't even see the ball.

Kissing him - just felt right. Well, no. It felt wrong to just give him that quick peck and then run away, but what there was of it felt good. Better than I expected, but then it was never the physical attraction side of things where our problems were.

Sticking to the tennis metaphor, I suppose I'd better find some glasses and something to hit the ball with. And then it occurs to me. If there's one thing Spike and I do well, it's work together. At least once we've managed to get over arguing. He's supportive of what I need to do, but he's also surprisingly knowledgeable and able to plan when he's got a reason. And we've got a ready-made problem to work on. He's already been investigating the missing Slayers problem, and it's where I see my priority as lying now - at a professional level anyway. So, that's sorted. Tomorrow, I'll call Giles and tell him that I'm going to join Spike to sort out what's been happening. He won't like it, but it won't be the first time I've done something he didn't like. And anyway, I owe him for not telling me about Spike.

By the time I go to bed it's very late and Dawn's been asleep for a while. Of course, the simple fact that I'm lying down doesn't stop my brain from going over my feelings again and again, so it's even later before sleep finally comes.

I'm wakened too soon by the sound of my cell phone ringing. I sit up groggily and scramble around looking for it, noting that Dawn's already up. I find it at last and answer only to hear an unfamiliar voice.

"Buffy? Good morning. It's Phillip Spencer-Kidd."

It takes me a minute to put the name to a face and when I do, I'm even more confused.

"Phillip? How? I didn't give you this number."

"No, Giles did. He asked me to get in touch. Look, there's been a development on the disappearances, but he didn't want to tell you over the phone. If it's ok, I'll come and fill you in."

"Do you know where I am?" I ask.

"Oh yes, you're staying with Moira McConnechie. I'm in the city centre, so I can be there within half an hour. When would suit you?"

I glance at my watch, surprised to note that it's already after eleven.

"Can you leave it later than that? Maybe twelve thirty?" I ask, deciding that I don't want to see him this side of a shower and some make up. And I'll have to make sure it's ok with Moira too.

"That'll be fine," he purrs. "I'll see you then."

Once in the kitchen, I spot the note that Moira has left for me, informing me that she's taken Dawn off to visit the Kelvingrove Art Gallery, and that they would see me later. I admit I'm relieved. If Dawn's had a morning doing something she wanted to do, she's going to be easier to deal with later. I put on the kettle, and I'm about to make some instant coffee when I find some ground and a small cafetière so I make a pot before going to shower.

By the time Phillip's due, I'm feeling a lot better. Can't say, I'm impressed with Giles' choice of messenger, but then I know he hasn't got many options.

I really don't know what to make of Phillip Spencer-Kidd, except, of course, that I think there's something odd about him. I'm not sure what to expect when he finally arrives, knocking at the door. I open it and it hits me again. He's just somehow so … distracting, and I don't understand why I didn't notice it on the flight over.

He leans in to hug me as if we're old friends, and I push the thought that we're not old friends to the back of my mind, and then I feel something, a scratch on my arm. I pull away quickly, my hand going to the point and coming away with a drop of blood.

"What?" I ask.

"Is that blood? Have you hurt yourself?" His voice is all concern.

I put my hand back again, but this time it comes back clean. Whatever it was must've been pretty minor. And Phillip's giving me that 100 megawatt smile and looking so worried, that I can't help but tell him it's nothing.

It's then that I hear someone else at the door. My first thought is that it's Spike, and I'm instantly concerned that he'll misunderstand what's happening here. I hesitate, and to my surprise, Phillip gets up and goes to answer the door. I follow him, about to ask him what's he's up to, but as soon as he opens the door, I no longer need an explanation. I mean, I'd be surprised if two Fyarl demons were in the habit of ringing Moiras's doorbell.

I take one look at Phillip, who's smirking now, and I wonder exactly what happened to that smile I was admiring just a moment ago. Still, it's hardly important because I'm going to wipe the smirk off his face anyway. I raise an arm, and hit him, just wanting him out of the way so I can tackle the Fyarls, but there's something wrong. That punch that should have knocked him off his feet doesn't seem to have done anything other than irritate him.

"Take her and be quick about it," he tells the Fyarls. I get ready to launch an attack on them, but I'm not quick enough, and the next thing I know, I'm being dragged out of the door.

They take me out into the yard and open a cover in the ground beside the trash bins. I'm desperately trying to work out what's happening, but, deep down, I know. When I was eighteen, Giles gave me something in a drink, something that took my Slayer powers from me. It was all part of a test of Slayers. This is exactly how that felt. Somehow, Phillip got hold of that or something similar, and that blood must have been him injecting it into my arm.

Phillip doesn't seem to be following us, though, and then, despite my best efforts, I start to feel unreasonably sleepy. That's different from last time. Either the drug has been modified, or it's something different.

From my position, slung over the shoulder of a Fyarl demon, the last thing I think I see in the underground gloom before I'm overcome is a flash of unnaturally blond hair.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24 Glasgow, 6 July 2004

I had a call early this morning from one of the demon bar owners I've been cultivating for information. Well, I cleared out some trouble-makers for him a couple of days ago, and he agreed to keep his ear to the ground for any information he thought might be of interest to me. Can't say I was pleased to have my mobile ringing that early, but he was convinced I'd be interested, so I went out. Got here by ten, but it turns out he wants to introduce me to someone who wants to hire me. I'm just starting to consider the possibility that I've got out of bed for a red herring when the potential employer turns up - Bloxar demon. They're pretty scary-looking to your average human but they're not exactly known for their aggression. In fact, finding one of them in the middle of Glasgow when they normally avoid contact with humans is a sure sign of desperation.

Now Bloxar demons have this whole code about going through the niceties before getting down to business. If I was another Bloxar, it'd mean eating some things I'd rather not think about, but out of sensitivity to my feelings, he settles for beer and he's paid for a private room upstairs, complete with access to the pumps up there. We go through a range of toasts, wishing good health to all our living relatives, before he finally gets to the point. And you'd better believe he's got lots of living relatives. Anyway, it turns out my informant was trying to casually get information on Fyarls, and that, coupled with the rather embroidered story of how I dealt with a couple of unruly vamps, travelled north of Glasgow, to somewhere in the hills above Loch Lomond. Apparently, some Fyarls have moved into a Bloxar clan's home turf. Now there's no way a Bloxar's going to challenge a Fyarl – especially at this time of year when there're lots of young around. But he's either got to get rid of them, move the clan somewhere else, or just wait around while they're murdered one at a time. So, he's offering me good money to clear out the nest. But if there's a whole nest of them, then I'd kind of like back up. In fact, it occurs to me that it might be an ideal job for Buffy and me if she's interested. Dangerous enough to get the blood pumping but still something we could take care of. I take some contact details and promise to get in touch.

Once he's gone, I sit a while longer, wondering whether to do a round of some of the other bars I frequent, or just go back home for a sleep. In the end, the suggestion of a mug of blood followed by sleep sounds unbelievably welcome. And there's another thing in favour of that decision too. I might just run into Buffy.

It's after noon as I approach the final tunnel before Moira's cellar. And that's when the smell hits me. Fyarl. Unmistakable. Also unmistakable is the fact that it's coming towards me.

I get myself up, out of sight, and wait. It's not that I'm scared of Fyarls. Wary, yes. You'd be stupid not to be wary of them. Then I get another scent - one I'd welcome under most circumstances, but not right now. Buffy. Every instinct tells me to attack, but I'm not on a suicide mission today - the stakes are too high. If Buffy's in danger, then I've got to take it carefully.

When I spot them, I know there's no way I can attack just now. They've got Buffy, and it looks like she's been drugged or something. She's slung over the shoulder of one of them, but she's too vulnerable if I start something. Apart from anything else, Fyarls don't have good night vision, and when they start to get violent they can be pretty indiscriminate. There's no way I can get to her fast enough to make sure she's safe. So, I do the only thing I can - I follow.

At least that's not difficult. Like I said, Fyarls don't have good night vision, and they're not exactly known for their stealth, so I can creep along behind them without being spotted. And I do, for the best part of an hour.

I'm having to guess where we are now - I haven't used this part of the tunnels before. In fact, by the look of them, these tunnels aren't used by anyone and haven't been for years. The Subway doesn't extend very far south of the river, and we've come further than that, out of the service tunnels and into what I can only assume are for nothing other than sewer access, unless Glasgow has had a demon Lord Provost to match the Mayor of Sunnydale.

And then, without warning, they pass through an archway to the left and quickly disappear from sight. I follow, and there's a staircase going further down, apparently hewn out of rock. There's a noise here too, a humming sound, and it's getting louder as I approach.

Round a bend, and I can also get occasional flashes of light reflecting on the wall ahead of me, so I hold back a bit further, listening all the more carefully. And then, there are voices. The Fyarls didn't gossip on the way, I'll give them that much. Couldn't bloody creep up on a deaf man, but idle chatter's definitely to be avoided if they want to be inconspicuous.

They're talking in Fyarl, and the voice that replies is also speaking Fyarl, but it's human.

"Took you long enough. Any trouble?"

Their reply isn't directly translatable, but let's just say it wasn't very polite. The human's answer, though, shows he's either extremely thick-skinned or he's only got a very basic grasp of the language.

"Good, I'll just finalise the portal." There's a sizzling sound, and the humming becomes louder, and the light brighter.

"That's it. Take her through and make sure she's settled. Once that's done, get the Rynkets to send you back. I'm expecting another major consignment soon, and I'll need all of you for that."

There are grunts of agreement at that, but I don't wait to hear. I lunge towards the source of light, just in time to see Buffy, still slung over a shoulder, disappear into the portal. There's only one thing I can think to do, and so I do it, throwing myself at the portal after her, as I hear it fizzling out of existence.

Conscious that my best weapon will be surprise, I'm on the alert as I emerge, my hand already on one of the two silver knives I've taken to carrying lately, and I'm relieved to find that the two Fyarls are only met by a wizened little imp-like demon I don't recognise. I get rid of him with a single kick before the Fyarls have even spotted they were followed. I launch myself at the one carrying Buffy, managing to down him quickly and snatch Buffy out of the way. The fight is pretty brutal after that, but desperation's a wonderful thing. And desperation's what I feel when it comes to keeping Buffy safe.

Once I've dispatched the Fyarls, I rush to Buffy. She's unconscious, but her heart's beating strongly, so I gently try to rouse her. I'm relieved that I haven't been disturbed so far, but there's a door at the end of the room we're in, and I've got no idea what's behind that. There's no obvious means of escape in this room - whatever mojo created that portal, I suspect it was done at the other end, so we're going to have to take a look around here, and I'd rather do that with the Slayer able to pull her weight rather than being carried.

It takes a while, but eventually, she rouses, blearily looking at me with what seems to be a soppy grin.

"Spike," she murmurs before closing her eyes again. "Wasn't a dream."

She seems to drift off again before waking properly, sitting up and taking in her surroundings.

"What wasn't a dream?" I demand, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Dream? Nothing. No dreaming. Where are we and where's Phillip?"

"Phillip?" I demand, unreasoning jealousy emerging despite the situation.

"Phillip. Watcher-guy. Spencer-Kidd. All high-wattage smiles and expensive clothes. He …" she reaches round to rub her arm. "He stuck me with a needle, it made me all weak, and then I passed out."

"We're going to have a chat about you letting blokes close enough to stick you with needles," I growl. At least that's what it sounds like even if it's not what I intended. "But for now, we've got trouble. I spotted you being carried by a Fyarl through the tunnels under the city and I followed. Didn't get a chance to do anything then, but they got to a place where there was a man - maybe your Phillip, I was in too much of a hurry to notice - and he'd opened up a portal. They took you through, and I followed just before it closed. Sorted the Fyarls once I was through, and that little thing," I point out the imp. "He was the welcoming committee, but he might also be our key to getting back. Haven't had any visitors since we arrived, which is surprising, but it could be the only way out of here is out there. Anyway, assuming this is the same outfit that's been nabbing Slayers, maybe the others are here too."

She takes that in, then goes to take a look at the unconscious demon on the floor.

"We should tie him up," she suggests. I agree, but don't have anything obvious with me. A check around the sterile-looking atmosphere of the room we're in doesn't suggest anything either, so I go through what the Fyarls were carrying, and eventually manage to find some cord that should do it. There's a heavy-duty pipe running from floor to ceiling in a corner of the room, and I tie him securely to that and when I turn back to Buffy, she's looking concerned.

"What's up?"

"Look, Spike. I don't know how much use I'll be to you. I hit Phillip, and he didn't even wince, well, not too much."

"Demon, do you think?"

"No. That stuff he gave me … it felt like when I did that test for the Council when I was eighteen - crucia - something. Giles said it was a muscle relaxant - took away my powers. The same but different. That didn't knock me out, but it lasted for days."

"Ok," I say, working out our best move from here. "Maybe we should just wake up his wrinkliness there and persuade him to send you back. I'll go and see if there are any other Slayers here."

"Not on your life. I passed that test the Council set, even without the extra strength. No. We're going out of here together. Don't worry, I won't get in your way."

And she gets up from where she's been sitting on the floor and makes her way to the door.

I learned a long time ago that there's not a lot of point in arguing with Buffy when she's determined. So, I make up my mind to make the best of what we've got.

"Ok, you're coming. Won't argue. But I'm going first."

She looks at me, ready to disagree, but then she thinks better of it.

"Ok, you go first."

The door's heavy and made of metal. It isn't locked, though, and after listening carefully for a moment, I open it a crack. There isn't a lot of light out there - unlike here where it's almost clinically bright. Can't see or hear anyone though, so I open the door fully, ready to react to any threat. Nothing.

We're in a corridor, apparently towards the end. Turning left, we make our way along, ducking down at the first door we reach. I listen carefully at the door, but don't hear anything. I risk a look, and I'm disappointed to find it's just an office - complete with desk and filing cabinets. In fact, the only odd thing is that I don't see a phone or computer or whatever.

There's nothing else for quite a while, and by the time we reach the next door, my skin's crawling with the effects of magic. I'm almost scared to look into the next room, but I do anyway. Visible through a glass panel in the door is a huge crystal. It's basically clear like a diamond, but it's throbbing with wisps of colour following each other around its depths. It's beautiful, and I feel drawn to it, but my good sense reasserts itself in a moment. It's magic and magic's dangerous. Therefore, I'm going to leave it well alone. One glance at Buffy and it's obvious she's got it worse than me. I put a hand on her arm and try to bring her back. She seems confused for a second, and about to argue too, until I remind her that our priority is to find any other Slayers there might be around here. After several backward glances, she reluctantly follows me.

The only option now is a staircase going down, so we take it. At the bottom is a short corridor, with just one door and another staircase leading down. The door looks like one in a prison cell, with a peep hole which I use. Inside is an array of cages, and in each of the cages, is a sleeping girl.

I break down the door, and we go inside. The noise seems to rouse the girls, and soon, I'm faced with dozens of Slayers all looking at me like they wish they had a stake in their hands.

Buffy's scanning the various faces, as if looking for a familiar one, when one of the girls shouts out.

"Buffy?" The voice comes from a girl in one of the closest cages. Buffy seems to recognise her too, rushing towards her.

"Angelique?"

I decide to stay close to Buffy. What can I say? I'm not averse to taking a tumble with a Slayer, but I draw the line at that many of them at once.

It's then that I feel something hit my back, and I turn to spot an improvised wooden stake lying on the floor behind me. Buffy spots it too.

"Who threw that?" she demands.

A mousy-haired girl in another cage raises her hand. "He's a vampire," she says by way of explanation.

"Yes, he's a vampire. And the only reason I'm not in a cage like the rest of you is him. You leave him alone or you answer to me, got it?"

That's not enough for our stake-wielding Slayer, though.

"And who are you to be giving orders?"

"Stella," Angelique intervenes. "This is Buffy Summers. You know, The Slayer. The one who defeated the First. The one whose idea it was for us all to get our Slayer powers."

But even that's not enough for Stella. "Oh, and I suppose the vamp's Spike. Oh, wait, it can't be. He burned to dust when he closed the Hellmouth at Sunnydale."

"Well, actually," I say, sauntering over to her cage. "That's exactly who I am. Glad to see that the Council of Watchers isn't afraid to tell the truth these days."

"But …?"

Whatever she was going to say is overwhelmed by a sudden chatter from the various cages. They all want to say something, all want to know what's going on.

"Quiet!" Buffy yells. "Now, Angelique, can you tell us what's happening here. Why haven't you escaped? Are there any guards? What are we up against?"

Again, several girls try to talk, but Buffy yells at them to be quiet again, and this time they do.

"Well," Angelique starts. "As for escaping, believe me, we've tried. These bars are just too strong. Can't budge them. There aren't any guards, at least, not as such. There're a few demons around - little scrawny-looking things - but we think they must be drugging us somehow. We're all spending a lot of time asleep, and when we wake up, there's food in each cage and everything's been tidied up. I don't think the food's drugged, though, 'cos some of us tried not eating it, and we still fell asleep pretty quickly."

"So, why are you here? Some of you have been here for a while, I'd guess."

"Over a week," Angelique agrees. "Linda was here before me, though."

She points to a blonde girl towards the back of the room."

"Other girls were here before that. Some of them have gone, though. You wake up sometimes, and some girls are gone and we don't know what happened to them."

"Anyone here called Fiona Walker?" I ask, remembering Gus' description of her and the photos I've seen.

"Fiona?" Linda answers. "Yes, I think her name was Walker. Scottish girl. I made the mistake of calling her English and she told me off about it. She was one of the first to disappear."

I feel that sinking feeling as I imagine telling Gus that news, but push that out of my mind.

"So," I continue. "Is this all of you?"

"Right now? As far as I know," Angelique answers. "Most of the girls don't ever come in here. I was one of a dozen or so girls taken at the same time. I was just snatched by … I don't know what, and found myself in a huge room somewhere. They sorted us - most staying there and I was brought here and locked in. I don't know what happened to the others. Are they … dead?"

"Probably not," Buffy answers. "Most of the Slayers have been sent back, minus their powers and their memories, but otherwise ok. As far as we can tell, it's only the active Slayers that have been held."

While Buffy was speaking, I've been having a go at Angelique's cell. Contrary to what the girls have said, the bars are a long way from being Slayer-proof, and it only takes a couple of minutes for me to bend a couple far enough to let her out.

"Well, that answers that," I comment. "Now, what do we do?"

"I wonder how long until you're due to be fed again? Any idea?"

There's a general muttering at that, but it's Angelique who finally answers.

"I'd guess not long. We don't tend to wake until after they've been, so we must be just about due or I suspect we'd have slept through your arrival, too. I assume we woke because we sensed a vampire - I know that's the first thing I knew - that there was a vampire near."

"Ok, so here's what we do. Spike, you bend enough of those bars to let the girls out. Remember, Spike's with us in this, so don't let your Slayer instincts get the better of you. With any luck, there'll be demons for you to fight later. We'll take you to a room upstairs where you can hide out for a while - should be fairly defensible too, given your numbers, even if you aren't as strong as you should be. I'm hoping that you'll soon recover your strength, but I honestly don't know. We left our welcoming committee up there, unconscious and tied up. If he comes around, you can try to persuade him to open a portal back again. If you can get out, then go. We'll see what else we can find."

There's a general cacophony of disagreement at that, but Buffy holds up her hand.

"Look, Spike and me? We … we work well together, and we're used to each other. We'll be better off alone."

There's still disagreement, but Buffy just turns to me.

"Ok, Spike. Plan B. We'll leave the girls here and let them out when we've checked out the rest of this place."

We both turn to go, but we're met with reluctant agreement to our terms. I leave Buffy to chat to Angelique while I set to work on the rest of the cages. In no time I'm surrounded by maybe fifty Slayers, among them the ones who Giles sent to meet me in London. Most of them are eyeing me warily, but there's been no attempt to do worse.

After checking out the corridor, we lead the girls back to the first room which appears to be as we left it. We leave then, moving downstairs, only to find a reason for the lack of any resistance so far.

There's nothing apparent at the bottom of the second set of stairs, so, still in the lead, I go on, only to hear a muted squeal from Buffy a second later. I look back, and there she is, sitting on the lowest step.

"What's up, Love? Enjoy your trip, did you?"

She glares at me as only she can.

"No, there's a barrier there." She gets up again and puts out her arm to demonstrate. Sure enough, it's like a vamp without an invitation.

"Looks like it's been Slayer-proofed," I agree. "I suppose that explains why there isn't any security up here. Can't get out the way we came in, can't get down here. They seem to be pretty sure of what they're doing."

"Yes, but that doesn't exactly help, now does it?"

"No, but listen. I'll go on alone. Maybe there's a way to turn off the field. If there is, I'll come back and get you. If not, then I'll just have to see what I can do on my own, won't I?"

Another glare, but this time there's sadness there too.

"Spike," she says quietly. "Be careful. I … I don't want to lose you again."

"Know the feeling, Pet. Don't you worry. You know me. I'll be back like the proverbial bad penny."

With that, I turn around and leave her watching until I go round the corner out of sight.

It doesn't take too long to find the rest of the resident demons. There are six of them – same species as our welcoming committee. I try to remember what that human called them – at least I assume it's the same ones. Something like wrinkle. They're working on some sort of magic, that much is obvious. Either that or they're into some fairly involved chemistry.

Fortunately, even six of them don't present much of a problem, and it's not long before I've knocked all but one of them out, and the final one is cowering in a corner.

"Right," I say, trying to maintain my threatening appearance when in reality, I'm trying not to laugh. "Want to tell me who's in charge of all this?"

He shakes his head, apparently in terror.

"I'm going to have to hurt you if you don't, so it really is in your best interests to talk."

"I believe you. But I think he'd hurt me worse if I talk, so …"

"You really believe that, do you?"

I take a look around the room, spying a particularly wicked looking knife that's already spotted with blood - Slayer blood by the scent.

"See, I know how this knife's been used. And you know how that makes me feel?"

He shakes his head, apparently not getting the point.

"Slayer blood. I'm what you might call a connoisseur. And I take it personally if someone spills some of it."

"But … you're a …"

"Vampire? Yeah. But, I'm kind of unique."

"Angel? I thought …"

"No, not Angel. There's more than one vampire with a soul, except there isn't any more, but maybe you're not up to date with the news."

He shrinks further back into the corner.

"So, are you going to tell me what's happening here?"

Another shake of the head.

"Ok, for now, let me tell you what I think. You've been kidnapping Slayers. Most of them, you're sending back, minus their Slayer abilities. Some, though, are being kept here. Not sure why. Some are going elsewhere. Again, not sure of the details, but …"

He's looking worse than ever, and I'm just wondering how much he can take when suddenly, he crumples, and seems to turn to smoke in front of my eyes. I spin around, and the others are gone too, but I'm not alone.

He looks human but I know he's not. Tall, blonde, tanned, dressed in a navy business suit with white shirt and bluey-green tie. If I didn't know better, I'd say he looks like a Wolfram and Hart employee. Then again …

"Spike, Spike, Spike," he says in a tone of voice guaranteed to irritate. "You really are a surprise. You know that? Every time we think you're gone for good, up you pop. Irritating, but not really important enough to do anything about."

"Well, real irritation's an art, isn't it?"

He ignores that.

"So, who are you? I mean, you know my name – seems only fair if I know yours."

"My name? I've got more names than you've got deaths on your conscience. But in this time and place, I'm known as Hatton."

"So, Hatton. This your show? You've been running it, have you?"

"Lately, yes, it's my show. Not my idea, though. You know, for really original ideas, humans have got demons beaten every time. We just decided it was too good an opportunity to miss."

"We? So you're not alone."

"Spike, you're a bright chap. I thought you would've guessed by now. You and the rest of Angel's merry band may have survived the hordes we sent against you when you destroyed the Circle of the Black Thorn, but the Senior Partners are as strong as ever. Yes, it'll take a while before we get others of that calibre into place on earth, but all that means is that people like me have to step into the breach."

"So you're with the Senior Partners, are you? At least I know who I'm dealing with. Can't say I think a lot of your security here."

He actually laughs at that. Got to say, this bloke knows how to make you feel small. Just as well I learned how to ignore another master of that art – bloody Angelus.

"I've been watching you since you arrived. There's no need for security. There's no way in or out of this dimension unless you know how to set up an inter-dimensional portal which, I'm assuming, you don't. What's more, since you don't know anything about this dimension and its relationship to your own, even if you could, you could end up anywhere, and so many of the alternatives are actually much, much worse than this one."

I roll my shoulders. It's the sort of body language that annoys pillocks like this one, and it helps my readiness for the fight I know is coming.

"So, you're telling me to just give up. Nothing I can do. Might as well just let you carry on with what you're doing. Next you'll be offering me a job. You know, switch sides."

"Well, in some circumstances, you'd be right. But you? Too much the maverick. I'd never be able to trust you, so no, I won't be offering you the chance to switch sides. You're just too human, and I mean that in what humans would see as the best possible sense. You care about others too much, you know? People who work for the Senior Partners really need to only care about themselves. That's how we get the results we need. Take me, for example. I don't care how much I have to hurt you before I finally dust you. And then I'll release some more gas upstairs, knock all the Slayers out, and send in some minions to tidy up."

"Making some assumptions there, aren't you?"

"Let's just say I'm confident of my abilities. And, when you're dust, then I can see to the disposal of our most recent acquisition. She was specially requested, you know that? In a different dimension to the one you inhabited, Drusilla killed Willow Rosenberg before she could return Angelus' soul. He killed his Slayer. It took a very long time, but no one can take that much abuse forever. He was rather disappointed she didn't last longer, and he's willing to pay a great deal for a replacement. I may be wrong, but I'd suspect that this version of Buffy Summers will last longer than the other one."

That's it. The idea of Buffy being sent to Angelus … used like that. I launch myself at him and bounce right back. For the first time I consider the possibility that this might just be harder than I thought.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25 - 6 July 2005, Alternate Dimension

Leaving that force field was hard. I was tempted to keep kicking at it and willing it to let me through, but I know it'd be futile so I move back the way we came. I'm drawn to that room with the crystal. I know Spike's wary of it. He said he could feel the magic emanating from it, but that's not what I felt. I felt a sense of me, of familiarity. My steps are drawn back to it without conscious thought. As I approach the room, the throbbing that I feel is almost hypnotic, perhaps like the effect of a mother's heartbeat on an unborn child. It's telling me that I'm at one with that … power.

I try the handle, surprised to find that it's not locked, but the reason for that is immediately obvious. There's another barrier. I can feel it, an apparently solid surface, and I place both hands on it, willing it to let me through. To my surprise, its texture changes – from feeling completely smooth and solid like a pane of glass, it starts to ripple, as if something's trying to break it down. I've got a direct view of the crystal from here, and oddly, the rippling I can feel in the force field is mirrored in the crystal. I can't explain how, but I know that the crystal is trying to bring down the field. It wants me to come to it, but when the rippling remains constant without allowing me through for several minutes, I know this is something I can't do alone.

If there's one thing this last year or so has taught me, it's that I'm not alone. Sharing my Slayer power was, at the same time, the easiest and the hardest thing I've ever done. I didn't ask to be called. I didn't ask to be singled out, to be the Chosen One. But, once the power was mine, living without it? So not an option. It's part of me, like the colour of my eyes or needing to wear heels just to reach some shelves in the supermarket. Not being the only one, though? Now that I've experienced that, there just isn't a downside.

I head back to where the other Slayers are waiting. It's a tribute to Giles' new training regime that they've actually done as they were told. I doubt I would have. But then, being without the power they've come to trust isn't easy - especially if you haven't actually had the power very long.

Once inside, I find them grouped in threes and fours, and I'm almost relieved that at least some of them are considering getting out of that room and doing something. I call them together and tell them what I'm planning.

It doesn't surprise me that I'm not the only one drawn to that crystal. What is surprising is that they all agree that they didn't feel that before today. Whatever's changed, every instinct I've got tells me that this is the right thing to do. We agree to leave our captive where he is, and I make doubly sure that he's securely tied. Then, we make our way to the crystal room. Once there, I put my hands back on the field, and I'm joined by Angelique and the girl she called Linda. There isn't really room for others right there, but they instinctively line up behind us, their hands on our shoulders, and with each Slayer who joins the chain, the field weakens more, until with a stumble, we almost fall through the doorway. The patterns in the crystal change, and if I didn't know better, I'd say they become joyful and expectant. I approach, and the other girls form a circle around it, with others encircling them. Together, on my word, all of us who can reach it put two hands on the surface while others make contact through those who're closer, and it's like coming home.

There's a hesitation at first. It's as if the power has been warded by something, but, first as a trickle and then as a flood, I feel the energy rushing into me. I'm barely able to wrest my concentration away from what's happening, but I glance at the faces I can see, and it looks like they're feeling the same way.

And then, I sense another presence in the room. I can feel him - alien, not a part of this - and the room itself seems to be trying to repel him. With a supreme effort of will, I look around, but all I see is a blonde, navy-suited man, desperately trying to reach the outer ring of Slayers, but it's as though he's being pushed away, like two magnets placed north pole to north pole. The look on his face is one of absolute fury, and he's trying even harder, but he just can't do it. In fact, as time goes on, the distance between him and the closest Slayers is increasing.

I'm aware of other things too. Fights against demons I've never seen, flashes of cities I've never visited. This is raw Slayer power, and laced in with it are memories more numerous than I can understand.

By this time, everything seems surreal. I'm more aware of the power than I've ever been, but there's more. I can feel Spike, and I know he's in pain, serious pain. I know that this … man … is responsible for that pain, and that Spike believes he's finished. Maybe he already is but I don't understand how I know this.

All I know is that Spike has been broken, and there's no way I can get away from here to fix him.

* * *


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26 – Alternate Dimension, 6 July 2004

Hitting this bloke is a bit like hitting a brick wall. Well, except that bricks crumble. I give it my best shot and it has absolutely no effect. He just stands there and takes blow after blow, not even trying to defend himself. Then, apparently bored, he changes his stance, and starts hitting me.

The first blow throws me across the room. The second pushes me part of the way through the wall behind me. After that, all I'm getting is a general impression and rapidly mounting pain. I can smell my own blood, and I have no chance to even think about getting out of the way, because as soon as I'm down, he's there again.

I know this is the end; I've never felt so helpless. And at last, when I'm sure I can't get up again, he stops, looks at me, and scans the room.

"This is the problem with modern design, you see. Not much in the wood line when you need it. But," he murmurs, "I expect this'll do."

He pulls a pencil out of his pocket.

He doesn't finish that; his attention suddenly somewhere else.

"It … recognised her! Stupid interfering …" he says, before just disappearing.

I know this is just a short respite. I know that, somehow, Buffy's doing something he doesn't like. I know he's gone to stop her, and I know she doesn't stand a snowball's chance in hell. I think about standing, but even the effort of working out which muscles to use seems like hard work. My foot's lying at an impossible angle, and I reach down to try to straighten my leg. Even that proves too much – any strength my arms once had gone in the pain that tinges everything red. I take in the surroundings, trying to think of some way to at least resist when he comes back, but there's nothing.

And then, it all changes. There's a throbbing in the air, it's telling me to get up. I don't understand it, but there's no way I can resist it. I try to set my leg straight again, ignoring the searing agony it causes. This time, with a supreme effort, I have some success, and I try to pull myself to my feet. Something that would normally be an instinct, without conscious thought, has become an effort involving meticulous planning, except I know I don't have time for that. I allow myself a few seconds to decide the best way to proceed, then just do it. Once on my feet, I lurch towards the wall, but even that doesn't make progress noticeably easier.

It's all I can do to keep moving, but as I do, it seems to get easier. Maybe there's just a point when every nerve in your body is already registering pain, and it can't register any more, I don't know. By the time I reach the staircase, I know it's more than that. There's no way I could even have contemplated climbing stairs a few moments ago, but now, I'm not just contemplating it, I'm doing it. Slowly and painfully, but I'm doing it.

There's a bright light ahead, so bright it's dazzling, and I know that's where I'm heading. It might well burn me to a crisp, but I also know it's where Buffy is, so it's where I need to be. The closer I get, the more the pain recedes, and by the time I walk though the door to the crystal room, I'm feeling just normal 'beaten up' pain, not the agony of a short while ago.

My visitor, Mr. Senior Partner's lackey or whatever, is trying to reach the Slayers. They're surrounding that crystal we saw earlier, all holding onto someone who's actually touching it. He can't get there, though. Something's holding him away, stopping him from making contact.

It's my chance. Somehow, I know that everything's changed now.

I pull him around to face me. He looks surprised but not worried.

"I thought we'd already finished this. Last time I saw you, you were lying in a pool of your own blood, just waiting for me to find something wooden to finish the job."

"Well, they always say, 'don't count your chickens,'" I answer before pulling my arm back to hit him as hard as I can.

No longer an immovable object, he flies away from me, bouncing off an invisible barrier between me and the Slayers. I move towards him, putting my hand around his throat, and I push him back towards the Slayers. He doesn't seem to be able to mount much resistance, and he stumbles backwards slowly. Whatever resistance there was between his body and the Slayers has changed too, because I'm able to keep pushing until his back brushes against the closest Slayer, and the instant that happens, he bursts into flame.

My first instinct is to move back. I mean, vampire here. Fire is not my friend. But this fire has no heat. I know it's not a danger to me or the Slayers, so I hold him where he is. He's screaming, but I don't let go, and soon, he just crumbles in my hand, disappearing into nothing. And then, there's an explosion, and after that, darkness.

* * *


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27 – Glasgow, 6 July, 2004**

The first thing I notice is that everything's changed. What seems like seconds ago we were in a room which was bright with plastered walls and a standard, vinyl-covered floor. Now, I'm in a gloomy cave. The next thing I spot is the fact that Spike's lying a short distance away, apparently unconscious. I jump up to go to him, belatedly considering the possibility that I might be injured, but the lack of pain seems to put paid to that idea.

As I approach Spike, he moves slightly, and emits a groan which, considering the amount of blood I can see on his clothes, seems to be one of pain. I crouch beside him, and he opens his eyes.

"Buffy," he murmurs, before sitting up.

"You're injured," I comment, ignoring the fact that he must realise that.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Not as badly as I was, though. Any sign of trouble?"

I belatedly take a look around, although my Slayer sense has been quiet.

"No. No sign of the other Slayers either, though."

He sits up straighter, checking around him as if expecting to find that I've missed them.

"Where …?"

"No idea. I don't even know where we are; although I'd hazard a guess we're underground."

He looks around again, then slowly, and what looks like painfully, pulls himself to his feet.

"You're right. We're underground. But I think I know exactly where we are."

"What? Don't tell me this just happens to be one of your underground lairs?"

"Simpler than that. It's just that I think this is where we went through the portal in the first place. Of course, since you were snoozing at the time, I don't suppose you recognise it."

"I was not snoozing. And if you know where we are, then you must know how to get out of here."

"That would be this way," he says smugly, as he limps off to my right.

It soon becomes obvious that he's still badly injured. Of course, the fact that he's swaying on his feet is a bit of a give-away, and I rush to help him support himself. He tries to shrug me away, but I don't let him.

"You need help, or we're never going to get out of here. I just wish I had my cell phone with me - I'd call someone."

"Wouldn't do you any good," he comments, taking his own from his pocket. "No signal down here."

"How soon till we can get to ground level?"

"Shouldn't take too long, but I won't know where we are in relation to what's above. I reckoned we walked a fair way south, and I don't know this part of the city that well. No idea if there's somewhere out of the sun where we can get out."

"Don't worry about that. A bit of sunshine doesn't bother me, and if we can get Gus to come, we can probably work around the sunshine thing, can't we?"

He shrugs at that, or at least, he starts to shrug before giving it up as a bad job. He's obviously in a lot of pain, and I think the short walk so far has really taken its toll on whatever reserves he had.

He tries again to move away from me.

"Spike, stop it. Just lean on me."

"But you're not up to strength. You won't last …"

"Wrong. I won't pretend to understand what happened with that crystal, but I'm pretty sure I'm back to Slayer standard in terms of strength and stamina. Maybe even better than before, although we'll have to wait and see on that score."

"You sure?"

"Absotively. Now, while I'm not at all averse to comparing notes on what happened back there, I'd feel a lot happier if I knew we were somewhere clean and more comfortable." I don't add the rest of my thought – that somewhere he could lie down and have his injuries tended seems like a good idea too.

He nods at that, and allows me to take some of his weight. He seems to be coping, but I'm relieved when we quickly spot what seems to be a way out. I get him as comfortable as I can, then take his cell phone and climb up. As I reach the cover, I hear his voice from below telling me that Gus is on speed dial no. 2. I listen carefully for the telltale sound of traffic but it all seems quiet above, so I push open the cover and take a peek.

When there's nothing obvious from that, I push the cover aside and take a proper look. The cover's in a narrow passageway between two industrial-looking buildings, and there's no one around that I can see. I climb out and hit 2 on Spike's phone.

As I give Gus the barest details of what happened, I take a look around, trying to get my bearings. I eventually manage to pick up a couple of signs on the building opposite, and Gus manages to turn that into a location with the help of the phone book. He estimates it's going to take him about half an hour to get here, so I go back down to keep Spike company, only to find that he's lost consciousness again, and looks worse than ever.

It's the longest twenty-five minutes of my life as I sit watching Spike, but at last, I go back to the surface, unreasonably annoyed to find that Gus still hasn't arrived. I stay there, though, watching out for the car he described, and heave a major sigh of relief when he finally arrives. He has some trouble with a security guard who's manning a parking lot gate, but at last, he makes it as close to the opening as the road will allow. He's got a tarpaulin, and between us we get that down to Spike, get him wrapped in it and haul him to the surface and into the back of the car. The fact that he's unconscious during that is probably a good thing.

The drive back seems to take longer than ever, although Gus manages to make me feel a little better by informing me that Moira and Dawn seem to be out and probably don't even know that I was kidnapped. In turn, I give him a reasonably detailed report on what happened. He has a spare set of keys for Spike's flat, and between us we manage to get him inside and onto his bed.

"Has he got a first-aid kit?" I ask.

Gus shrugs, but goes to take a look, returning a few moments later with an old box containing a few bandages.

"Ok, can you get me a basin of water and some cloths? I'll make do with what's here - at least he isn't likely to get an infection or anything, and I just hope I can make him comfortable. When you've done that, can you check if he's got any blood? If we can get him to drink some, his body will be able to start to repair the damage."

When Gus has gone, I start peeling clothes off, ripping the cloth so I don't have to move him more than necessary. I don't know what did this to him, but it's bad. Glory-bad at least, although I didn't tend him after that - another reason for guilt.

When Gus returns with the news that there's only a single bag of blood in the fridge, he offers to go and get more, and it's while he's gone that I hear voices outside the door and realise that Dawn and Moira are back from their day out.

I jump up to let them know where I am, and then have to put up with a myriad of questions from Dawn while I finish bandaging Spike. Moira doesn't say much at all, but goes into her flat and returns a few moments later with a pot of tea and some cups, and she tells me to sit down and tell her what happened.

"Can't a bloke get any peace around here?" Spike's voice sounds weak and rather raspy, but I'm glad to hear it. I rush back towards him, instinctively wanting to hug him but I stop short, remembering that we're not really on those terms any more if we ever truly were. Come to think of it, I don't know what sort of terms we're on, but thinking 'friends', I settle for putting one of my hands on top of one of his.

"Woke up at last, did you?" I'm hoping that by keeping the tone light, I can make my concern seem less extreme. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I've gone ten rounds with Glory. I'll be ok."

I nod, taking that as it's meant. As much to give her something to do as anything, I send Dawn to the kitchen to warm up the one bag of blood, and by the time Spike's finished that, Gus is back with more. Then, over tea, we try to piece together what happened. Gus has heard my side, but Spike hasn't, and no one else knows exactly what happened to Spike.

When he's got the gist of our stories, Gus goes upstairs to call Giles. Within minutes he's back with news.

"The Slayers are back too. Well, we've still got to check they're all back, but they've been turning up all over. Some - especially the early ones - are alone, but some of the more recent ones to disappear are turning up in groups."

"All of them?" I ask.

"I don't know. There's no news about Fiona yet. Why? Didn't you find them all?"

"No, Gus, we didn't."

"Fiona?" That question is directed towards Spike, and he shakes his head sadly as he answers.

"No, mate. But we'll find her. I'll be back on my feet in no time and then I've got some scores to even."

"Me too," I promise. "This isn't over until every one of those girls is back where she belongs. Ok?"

He nods his understanding, but I don't think he quite believes us, and there's probably nothing I can do about that other than make good on the promise.

"Oh," he says, shaking his head as if to change the track of his thoughts, "Mr. Giles said he'd be in touch as soon as he's apprised others of developments. He wants to hear the story from you direct."

"I'll bet he does," I mutter. Just at this moment, the last person I want to chat to is Giles, but I can see that it's for the best. Apart from anything else, the whole business of Phillip Spencer-Kidd got sort of glossed-over while we were giving Gus the basics, and I want to make sure Giles knows who the Council's been employing.

I manage to get Dawn back to Moira's after a while, working on the assumption that Spike needs to rest. She's been fluctuating between silence and nervous chatter for a while, and I know her well enough to know that her conscience is bothering her. She wants to apologise to Spike, but can't quite bring herself to do it. I make up my mind to encourage her later, once I'm sure he's going to be ok.

Moira seems thoughtful too. She hasn't said a lot in response to our adventures, but seems worried about something.

Once they're back next door, I go back to Spike, intending to just check on him. He's sleeping, and I sit there for a while, just watching him. This last day's been one full of surprises - from discovering Spike's really still alive, to finding Dawn, through to the most recent happenings. It's almost too much to believe that it's all true, but the biggest miracle of them all is Spike, bruised and broken but still with us.

Moira comes in then, my cell phone in her hand.

"Mr. Giles just called. He said he'd call back in one minute."

I smile a thank you at her, and, right on cue, the phone rings.

"Hello, Giles," I answer, leaving Spike's bedroom. I've got a feeling this conversation might require me to raise my voice, and I don't want to disturb him.

"Buffy. I'm so glad you're ok. You are … ok, aren't you? Gus didn't mention any problems."

"I'm fine, Giles. Spike's been pretty badly beaten, but I expect he'll be ok in a while."

"Spike. Yes, well. About that, Buffy."

"I don't want to talk about that. There's nothing you can say to me that will justify the fact that you kept his survival from me, so just don't waste your breath. So, what's happening? Any word on the other Slayers?"

There's a longer pause than seems altogether natural before he continues.

"Some forty-six girls have been returned, and from the testimony of those girls, it seems that all those you released from the cages have been accounted for. They were all returned to the point they vanished from, or somewhere very close to it. We're finalising a list of those still missing, and I'll fax it to Gus as soon as we do."

"Ok."

"There's one thing I don't understand, though. How were you taken? Gus said something about being drugged, but he didn't elaborate."

"What do you know about Phillip Spencer-Kidd?"

"Phillip? How do you know him? And what has he got to do with this?"

"He introduced himself in LA before I left, then offered to upgrade my ticket when I flew over here. Then he called me this morning and said you'd asked him to bring me up to speed on the Slayer disappearances. And then he stuck me with a needle, and handed me over to some Fyarls. And if it hadn't been for Spike, right now, I'd be in a cage in another universe somewhere."

"Buffy, about Phillip. I'll have to get back to you. I've had a message to contact him, but, in light of everything else that's been happening, it seemed singularly unimportant and I've ignored it. To be honest, he's one of the Watchers I inherited from the previous regime and I don't take him seriously. I'm going to get in touch with him now and see what he's got to say. To be blunt, I can't see him being behind all this. He just hasn't got the … well, anything - intelligence, imagination, vision … to pull this off. There's got to be something else going on. A shape-changer, perhaps?"

"Whatever it is, it didn't give me any demon tingle, but there is something about him. He … my reaction to him wasn't right. Or consistent. The first time I met him, it was like … he was the most attractive man I've ever seen. Then on the flight over, he was just your regular guy. This morning, I knew my reaction to him was off, but there wasn't anything I could do."

"His whole involvement makes no sense anyway. How would Phillip know you were coming over when I didn't until I saw you at the service? He's been in Brunei – sent there because his one talent is being able to rub shoulders with people who have money."

"He said he had someone who kept him informed. Er … Penny? No. More English than that. Penelope - I think."

"It's not that unusual a name, but there's only one Penelope I know who'd have access to such information."

"Let me guess. Young, easily impressed …"

"No. A mature widow who's been the PA to the Council's finance director for over ten years."

"No one else?"

"Not that I can think of. Penelope fits the bill though - she'd have access to anything that had money involved - like assignments, and of course, Moira's budget for the memorial service."

"That's not what I imagined, though. I saw him on the flight over, and mature wasn't the type he went for. Unless … If he can turn the charm on like he did with me …?"

"I'll investigate whether there's any link between them." There's a sigh on the other end, and I wait for him to speak again.

"Let Spike know I'll be in touch with him and that he'll be paid up to the end of the month. He's broken our agreement, and considering that I promised to send some Slayers after him if he contacted you, I'm sure he'll realise he's getting off lightly."

"Giles, listen to me. Leave Spike alone. He's done the Council's work today, and he's a bleeding, broken mess because of it. And I don't care what agreement you had with him, but he didn't contact me. Moira set us both up."

"I can't believe she would do such a thing without being … pressured to do so."

"Have you met Moira?" I demand. "I don't think you could 'pressure' her. And believe me, Spike's not a good enough actor to be able to manufacture the surprise on his face when he saw me. If you fire Spike, you'll have my letter of resignation by return mail."

"Buffy, I understand that you're feeling emotional just now, but when you calm down, I'm sure you'll realise that I acted in your best interests. And please remember that I was following Spike's wishes in not informing you of his survival."

"And you've always been so scrupulous about following Spike's wishes, haven't you?"

The silence at the other end is enough to let me know that he's starting to realise that he's not going to talk me round on this one. When it's over, he's fallen back on a typically male response.

"We'll talk again when you've calmed down. I won't take any action as regards Spike in the meantime."

"Giles, as far as this is concerned, I'm not going to calm down for a very long time."

And then, he's gone. I just hope he puts Spike out of his mind and concentrates on finding out what Phillip's been up to. Right now, I suspect he's the only link we've got to the missing Slayers.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28 ** **– Glasgow, ****6 July 2004**

From when Buffy disappeared from view, climbing out of the tunnel, the next thing I knew was that I was feeling better than I had any right to. The pain was still more real than I like, but I was in a bed, and someone had bandaged me up and even set some broken bones. It was done right, too. You don't live for a century spent getting into scrapes on a regular basis without knowing when a bone's been set right. 'Course, I knew who was responsible. Her voice was the first one I heard as I drifted back to consciousness. She wasn't alone, though – Moira and Dawn were there too, and once they knew I was back with them, there wasn't any real alternative to swapping stories.

That, and drinking a bag or two of blood left me feeling pretty tired again, and the next few hours were spent drifting in and out of sleep. The one consistent thing during those hours was Buffy's presence. That warmed me more than it had any reason to - just the fact that she cared enough to put me back together again. And no, it wasn't the first time. After she rescued me from The First she tended my injuries, but that occasion feels like an aberration compared with the rest of the time we shared. Sometimes, the moments during that last year, when she showed signs of gentleness or caring or need – they seem unreal.

One advantage of not needing to breathe is that it's easier to maintain the fiction of being asleep. And right now, that feeling of being cared for is so … perfect, that I don't want reality to impinge on it at all. And I'm soft; I know it.

Of course, having my ears open has another advantage. When Moira comes in to tell her that Giles is about to phone, and Buffy goes into another room to take the call, it's obvious she's under the impression that I won't hear her. I tense as she takes the call, knowing full well that Giles is going to be furious, and believing that, despite the time and attention I've had this evening, she's going to listen to him.

My amazement grows with every minute. Obviously, I can't pick out what Giles is saying, but I hear enough of her answers to know that she's much angrier at him than she was at me. No, scratch that. She's much angrier at him than she is at me right now. Of course, I've got the invalid card to play at the moment, so I'll have to wait and see how that works out when I'm up and about. And, judging by the way I'm feeling just now, that's going to be quicker than it should. I really don't know what happened back there, but something took the edge off my injuries, and if I'm not missing my guess, it's still at work.

She's actually defending me to Giles – and she's even threatened to resign if he sacks me. Not that I'd let her – she's got too much to lose, what with Dawn still to look after – and the wankers owe her after all she's done over the years. But the idea that she'd even threaten …

I stop there. I can't let myself dwell on this. It all sounds too good to be true, and if there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that when it seems that way, it normally is.

I drift off again then, and only become aware when I hear voices close by. It's Dawn's voice I hear most clearly - Buffy's is softer, but Dawn's is strident. I almost take refuge in feigned sleep again, but decide to get it over with. Dawn hates me, and I get that. I pretty much hate myself for the way I let her down.

"What's all the noise about?" I ask when I open my eyes to find myself alone in the room.

I hear footsteps approaching, and I don't need any super senses to recognise Dawn's not so delicate tread.

"Spike? Buffy said you were sleeping."

"I was, but I'm not now."

"See," Buffy's voice comes from the doorway. "I told you you'd wake him."

"It's ok," I tell them both. "I've probably slept enough for a while anyway."

Dawn smiles nervously, and the scent she's giving off makes that nervousness even clearer. She looks over her shoulder at Buffy who glares back and then takes a few steps away - at least as far as the kitchen.

Dawn comes closer to me. She looks younger than she did - less the young woman of recent times and more the child who mourned her mum and then her sister.

"Spike, I'm sorry."

I wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't that.

"Sorry? Why?"

"For hitting you. For … being such a bitch to you last year. For … everything."

"I deserved it. You were right last year. I let you down. And not letting Buffy know I was back? A really bad move. I know that now. At the time it seemed like a good idea, but it wasn't."

"You didn't deserve me hitting you. Or most of what I threw at you last year. I … I guess it's like I wanted to be a child again. You know, when you're little, you can't imagine a grown-up doing anything wrong. They always know what to do and how to do it. Like your mom, you know? She's always there for you and she always knows what to do to make you feel better. But as you get older, the problems get to be ones your mom can't always fix. But … I didn't get that. Mom dying when she did … I needed someone else to take over. And when Buffy died, that was you. You didn't ask to be the one, but you were there, and when everyone else around me didn't see how much I was hurting, I got to rely on you. But there's no one who could make everything right all the time. Part of growing up is realising that even grown-ups get it wrong sometimes. Sometimes they do things with the best intentions but it just doesn't work out. Sometimes things get complicated. I don't know exactly what happened between you and Buffy - she tells me it's complicated - but I know some stuff. I know you were both hard on each other in different ways, and I know she was being violent towards you. I guess I'm saying that when I was so mean to you last year, it was less because of what happened between you and Buffy, and more that you weren't there when I needed you. The 'you and Buffy' thing was just something to blame. And when I saw you here? Yes, you deserved to be yelled at, but hitting you was out of order, and I'm sorry."

I've been on the verge of interrupting a dozen times during her speech, but she kept holding up her hand, gesturing me to let her finish. And now she's finished, I don't know what to say. She's looking at me, trying to gauge my reaction, but I can't help her with that because my reaction is to be completely overwhelmed.

She turns to go, but I can't let her leave like that.

"Dawn. Stop."

She turns around, and there's something more hopeful in her eyes.

I hold out my arms to her as well as bandages and pain will allow and she comes to me, burying her face in close.

"There's nothing to say sorry for," I tell her. "It's all past, all of it. Whatever happened, maybe none of us was at our best."

She looks up at me and smiles.

"Ok, so when are you going to get your lazy carcass out of bed?"

"In about five seconds, young lady. You need to learn to respect your elders."

"Five seconds? That I'd like to see. There's no way you're going to catch me."

And with that, she dashes out of the room, bumping into Buffy at the doorway.

"You ok?" Buffy asks.

"Yeah," I answer. "I really think I am."

"Feel up to getting up? I've warmed some blood but I can bring it in here if you like."

I consider getting up, flexing muscles and testing for strength. "Yeah, I could make it to the kitchen. Pass me some clothes? There's bound to be something I can wear."

"Nope. I checked while you were sleeping. Nothing in here but jeans that stand up by themselves, and there's no way you're getting into them just now. That's why I asked Gus to get you these."

She opens the bag she'd had behind her. It's got some soft jersey trousers, jogger-style, and a matching zip up jacket.

"Not really my style, Love. I'll …"

"You'll put these on. Your arms aren't up to putting on a t-shirt either. Just do as you're told for once, Spike."

"Or?" I ask teasingly.

"Or … you'll hurt yourself." She throws the bag at me and stomps out of the room.

I pull the clothes out of the bag. At least they're black. I suppose he could have bought some awful baby blue or something.

By the time I've pulled them on, I'm glad she insisted. It took a while and was much harder than I thought. I try standing, and reckon I can manage the short walk without help. I hear her calling me into the living room, and I'm relieved when I can sink into one of the chairs there. She hands me a mug filled with warm blood, and I sip it slowly.

"What time is it?" I ask. I know it's daylight out, but beyond that I haven't got a clue.

"Around eleven." She yawns then.

"Had a good sleep then. Which is more than I can say for you. Did you even go to bed last night?"

"I lay down on the sofa for a while, and I dozed in the chair in your room."

"Not good enough. Off you go and get some sleep."

"But … "

"Buffy, you staying here with me - it means a lot, you know? But this isn't over. Once I'm mended and we hear back from Giles, there's still a big bad to sort out, and for that we need you fit and well. Go and sleep while you've got the chance."

"You sure you'll be ok?"

"Bloody sure. Can't imagine I'll be left alone for long anyway. Mrs. M. often used to pop in in the afternoon anyway."

"If you're sure," she says, standing up.

"I am. Sleep well … and … thanks."

"Last time I checked, I should be thanking you."

"Oh will you two stop dancing around each other? He saved you. Not the first time, probably not the last either. And you've saved him in the past too."

Dawn's in the doorway, grinning like a fool. Buffy glares at her, but I'm smiling.

"So, you going to kiss her goodnight?"

That gets a small laugh from Buffy. "Dawn, 'good morning' would be closer. But why don't you stay here and annoy Spike while I get some sleep?"

"Ok. But you have to kiss him."

She sighs deeply, but comes towards me. She kisses me on the cheek, and turns to go.

"That's so not what I meant," Dawn protests.

"I know," Buffy answers. "That's why that's what you got." She turns towards me. "Kick her out if she gets too annoying. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Like he could kick me out in that state," Dawn retorts to Buffy's retreating back. She turns to me. "Right. So, what do you want to do? Watch TV or hear what's been happening this last year?"

She doesn't give me a chance to answer, but instead launches into a detailed account of everything she's been doing since they got out of Sunnydale.

* * *


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**** – Glasgow 7 July 2004**

To my surprise, I do manage to sleep - deeply and soundly like I haven't for a long time. As I come back, I'm vaguely aware of the sound of movement and then low level conversation. When I open my eyes, there's no one in the bedroom, so I get up, pull on a wrap and go out to find Moira and Dawn in the kitchen. Dawn's at the stove, stirring something in a large pan.

"What're you doing?" I ask. "Not teaching her to cook, surely?" I add as I turn to Moira.

"Not anything useful, that's for certain. There's a summer fair for the local Kirk. They're looking for things to sell, and tablet always goes down well. I was going to make some, but Dawn decided she'd like to learn how."

"Tablet? What's that?"

Dawn shrugs. "It's got sugar and butter and milk in it, so I'm thinking it can't be bad."

"It's sort of like fudge, but with a harder, grittier texture," Moira explains. "I think it's an exclusively Scottish thing, but home made tablet will always sell at these things."

She checks her watch. "Ok, Dawn, it's probably time to do the test. Remember what I told you?"

"Drop a bit into cold water and see what the texture's like."

"That's right. Now, lift it out and let me see."

"Ooooh, it's sticky - like soft toffee."

"That's right. Ok, that's perfect. Now, the hard work part. Take it off the heat but keep stirring it. When you see it just starting to form crystals - after a minute or two - pour it into the trays."

Dawn does as she's told, stirring the thickening mixture carefully.

"Did you sleep well?" Moira asks.

"Yes … yes I did. How's Spike doing?" I address the question generally, but it's Dawn who answers.

"He was going to get some more sleep and then have a shower. I told him to wait until you or Gus were around before he did that, though, so I've been listening for running water next door. Haven't heard any though, so he's probably still asleep." Dawn's still got that slightly over-excited tone she had when I left her with Spike.

"Where's Gus?"

"Ah, well. He's gone to the airport." Moira's voice sounds hesitant.

"Airport?"

"Yeah, to meet Giles?" No hesitance from Dawn, but then she probably hasn't had the whole story about Giles' involvement in all this.

"Giles. Giles is coming here?"

"Apparently he thinks this is where he needs to be to find out what's happened to the other Slayers."

I feel a constriction in my stomach at that. I was much happier when I didn't think he'd be any closer to here than London.

"Did he stop off in London or is coming straight from Cleveland?"

"Don't know. Gus just got the message to meet him and a flight number, so I don't know."

"Where's he staying?" I ask, wondering if he's planning on kicking Spike out of his apartment.

Dawn shrugs. "Some hotel. I think he might be coming straight to the office upstairs, though."

Ok, so Giles is coming. I can deal with him. It might be easier, though, if I'm dressed and have clean hair.

"I'm going to have a shower. If you hear anything from next door, give me a shout. I'll be quick as I can."

"You got it," Dawn chirps happily, continuing to stir the mixture.

I shower as quickly as I can. Drying my hair takes a little longer, but when it's done, I scrape it back with a scrunchie, pull on some jeans and a t-shirt and bump into Dawn in the hallway.

"Water's running next door," she informs me, so I leave right away, bursting in through Spike's front door which has been left unlocked. The bathroom door's open, but I knock anyway.

"Hardly need to knock, making all that noise," he mutters before opening the door completely. He's still dressed – below the waist at least – and he's gradually removing bandages from his upper half. "Come to check up on me?"

"Come to make sure you don't fall in the shower."

"Right. So, do you think you need to come in here or can you listen out for me from there?"

"Er … here'll be fine," I mutter, knowing that he's taken a perverse pleasure in making me have to even consider the alternative.

"Fine. I'll shout if I need help."

He closes the door behind him, and faced with a closed door or an extremely uninteresting hallway, I decide to go and wait in the kitchen which I reckon should afford the clearest sounds from the bathroom.

There's nothing interesting to do in the kitchen either, but there is a small pile of washing up, so I set to with that, pleased to note that he hasn't used all the hot water. And then I remember the unit in Moira's bathroom - it heated water just for the shower, so maybe it's the same in here.

I'm just finishing when I hear a knock on the door. I go to open it, wondering who it could be since anyone Spike's likely to be expecting is more likely to just walk in.

It's Giles with Gus behind him. Gus mouths a 'Sorry' at me before saying out loud, "Ok, Mr. Giles. I'll be upstairs when you need me."

Giles barely acknowledges this, merely glancing behind him and nodding before turning back to me. "Hello, Buffy. I was looking for Spike. I understood he'd been injured, so I wasn't expecting him to be entertaining."

"He's not entertaining. He's in the shower, and I'm here just in case he falls. You know, in case he injures himself worse than he already is."

"I see. May I come in?"

"I don't know. Maybe I should just check with Spike?"

"I asked because that's the accepted form. As I'm sure you know, the building, with the exception of Moira's flat, is leased by the Council. That makes me effectively his landlord, and as such, I'm entitled to come in."

I don't know how true or otherwise that is, but I decide that it doesn't matter. Whatever he's got to say to Spike, I'll be there to make sure it doesn't get out of hand.

I stand aside and show him into the small sitting room before going back to the bathroom to let Spike know.

"I heard," he says from behind the door. "Tell him I'll be there soon as I'm decent."

"Want some help with bandages?"

"I can probably manage most of it, and what I can't, we'll sort out later."

I go back in to the living room, and we're both sitting rather awkwardly for some minutes, during which time Giles pointedly looks at his watch.

"It's going to take him a while," I state. "He's not exactly at his most mobile."

"Yes, you said he'd been injured."

"Do you have any idea how badly?"

"Given the description of how he single-handedly defeated this Hatton, I can't imagine it was that bad."

I shake my head, then decide to tell him, one by one, about the various injuries I tended yesterday. As I go through the catalogue, he looks more and more embarrassed.

"I don't understand. I thought … when you said he was injured … that it was minor. I've done some investigation of this Hatton, and I know what he is. Angel … was able to help too. He said there was someone at Wolfram and Hart at the end - name of Hamilton. He … Angel said he couldn't harm him at all until Hamilton was stupid enough to let Angel know that the power of the Senior Partners was in his blood. Spike didn't … drink from this Hatton, did he?"

"No, I bloody didn't." The voice from the doorway takes us both by surprise. "If I'd known that, I'd have saved myself a world of pain."

I get up, instinctively going towards him to help him to a chair, but he gestures impatiently to me to sit back down. I do, and I watch him walking unevenly into the room.

"When Hatton'd finished with me, getting up wasn't an option, believe me. Then something changed. It was something to do with that crystal, but why it helped me, I have no idea."

"Yes, well, I had hoped to speak to Spike on his own, but since you're here, perhaps we should invite Gus back down and I can tell you what I've been able to add to the information you gave me."

"Ok," I answer, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket. After yesterday, I made sure to get Gus' phone number, so I call him. I know it's only upstairs, but there's no way I'm leaving Spike alone with Giles just now. Giles looks mildly irritated, but doesn't say anything.

It only takes a couple of minutes before Gus has arrived, and the four of us are sitting, Gus and Giles in the two armchairs, and Spike and I on the sofa. "Right," Giles begins, taking his glasses off to rub at his eyes tiredly before replacing them. "Where were we?"

"Spike just told you that when Hatton left him, he had been badly beaten and couldn't get up. Then, something changed and he was able to not only get up, but come to the room where the crystal was, and finish Hatton off," I summarise. I want to be sure that Giles has got the picture of Spike being badly hurt clearly in his head since he seems to be inclined to forget that bit.

"The crystal," he repeats. "Yes, I've had everyone I can spare looking into that. The behaviour of the energy in the crystal certainly makes sense when you take Edmundson's Free Energy Theory of the calling of Slayers into consideration. Despite studying the event for generations, the Council has a number of theories as to how a Slayer is called, but there has never been a way to conclusively prove one theory over another. However, in the Free Energy Theory, Slayer power is released into the ether on the death of each Slayer. It is then temporarily free to roam the earth in search of a suitable host. That theory believes that it travels until it encounters a potential Slayer. Some sub theories say that it rests with the first potential it finds while others believe that it searches for the most suitable candidate. The fact that Buffy retained her Slayer powers after dying has caused no end of argument around that theory, but that aspect has no importance in this discussion. This theory is given substance by the apparent behaviour of the energy in this instance. We have to assume that the energy had somehow been locked in the crystal. If it hadn't, surely it would have emerged before you arrived. However, the energy recognised that there were Slayers close to it, and fought to get to them."

"The other girls said they weren't aware of it until I got there."

"Interesting. Perhaps, as the longest holder of the power, it recognised you personally, but again, that's a subject for discussion when the current crisis has been resolved. Once contact was made between you and the crystal or perhaps more accurately, the energy within the crystal, the structure of the crystal was no longer able to contain the energy and it flowed back into those it recognised. However, I don't see how this could have helped Spike in the slightest. The Slayer energy, by any reasonable theory, should have kept as far from Spike as it could. He's the opposite of a Slayer. Evil, dead, the antithesis of everything it should be drawn to."

"I knew Spike needed help," I offer. "I don't know how, but I'm sure that my need to help Spike was recognised … somehow."

Giles looks at me as if I'd just told him I want to dye my hair green. I ignore the look and try to get back to more important matters.

"So, do you know how many Slayers are still missing?"

"Er, yes. We believe eight are unaccounted for."

"And what's the deal with Philip Spencer Kidd?"

"Ah, now, that's more complicated."

"What do you mean, complicated?"

"Philip is one very scared young man."

"He should be. When I get my hands on him …"

"Buffy, I know he's hurt you. Indeed, he's been involved in the kidnapping of many Slayers, but right now, he's our only clue to getting the remaining girls back. And he's got better reason than you to be afraid." He turns his attention towards Spike. "Spike, the information you were given by Hatton regarding the Senior Partners has been corroborated by Philip. He has been working for them, although, to be fair, he didn't know that until very recently."

"Sounds like he's been talking," Spike pipes up. "Mind sharing?"

Giles takes a deep breath before explaining.

"Yes, well, as Hatton told you, the original scheme was Morag's. Apparently, from the time she got her power, she was convinced that she could use the power in some way other than what was intended. She found that she could siphon off part of her own power and store it in crystals. Once she'd perfected her magic, she needed two things - she needed a market for the power, and she needed information on the Slayers. According to Philip, finding buyers was easy. She already had contacts all over the world because of her legitimate business interests, and some of those had contacts in other dimensions. Once information on her product became known, she was approached by Hatton. He was apparently happy just to act for various buyers in the beginning."

Giles reaches into his pocket for a cloth, takes off his glasses and cleans them thoughtfully. "Philip's involvement with Morag is much longer-term. Some years ago, he had heard that she had some skill with magic, and he commissioned her to provide him with something rather specialised. As you described to me, he can literally turn on his charm at will. He paid her handsomely for it, I understand. As far as Philip was concerned, that was the end of their arrangement. Then, almost a year ago, she approached him, threatening to tell the Council about his ability and how he's used it in the meantime. Philip maintains that he only ever used his … ability in a social context, although he seems not to recognise the fact that that in itself would be seen as reprehensible. However, Philip's father believed him to be flighty and unworthy of the huge inheritance that would otherwise have come to him. As a result, he left his estate to the Council, on condition that Philip is paid a very generous monthly allowance for as long as he continues to be employed. The Council, for its part, cannot dismiss Philip without due cause. Philip believed, quite rightly, that the Council would not look kindly on his behaviour, and so he felt he had no option but to accede to Morag's demands. She needed information on Slayers and their locations, and she knew Philip was a Council employee. And, by dint of using the very gift she had provided for him, the information was easy for him to obtain, even from the other side of the world."

"And he just told you all this? What did you use? A truth spell?" Spike's voice is heavy with sarcasm.

"I would have had no compunction about using a truth spell if it had proved necessary. Under the circumstances, it wasn't."

"He didn't just offer this information, did he?" I'm with Spike. I can't see Philip just coming clean about all this - not with his allowance in jeopardy.

"He offered this information in return for protection. He believes that the Senior Partners will wish to punish his … ineptitude in letting you follow Buffy through the portal. When Philip returned to the UK, Hatton had already taken over the operation from Morag, and he decided to use Philip for various tasks, among them, handling the Fyarls. It seems that the charm he can turn on at a whim has the effect of rendering Fyarls much more reasonable than they would normally be. Philip knew that he was working for the Senior Partners, but didn't see any alternative. He was at the portal when you went through after Buffy. He had a choice to make at that point. He could have followed you into the portal or tried in some way to warn Hatton of what was happening, but he believed that he would be blamed regardless, and so he ran. His insurance policy was a bit of information he came across by accident. Somehow, he learned that a lawyer by name of Lindsay McDonald had been able to hide from the Senior Partners. He didn't know the details, and he hadn't investigated too closely so as not to draw attention to himself, but he knew that a method existed. The details were, in fact, provided to the Council by Wesley Wyndam Pryce before his death. Philip tried to get the information from Penelope, but that was too specialised to be within her remit. In desperation, he tried to contact me, but, not realising his significance, I ignored his calls. Once I'd spoken to you, I immediately contacted him, and, in return for this information, was able to provide him with the protection he wanted. He is currently in a room which is shielded from the Senior Partners. However, if he takes as much as one step out of that room, he will lose whatever protection the symbols provide. He is therefore, to all intents and purposes, out of circulation."

I shiver despite myself. Giles is managing to be so cold about this. It reminds me of the time, with Glory, when he tried to persuade me that I'd have to kill Dawn.

"Ok," Spike interrupts my thoughts. "So Morag started the scheme, and then Hatton decided to take over. I assume that's when she got herself killed?"

"I would assume so."

"But if it was working so well, why didn't they just carry on letting her run things?"

"Because Hatton was impatient. He felt that the harvesting of Slayer power was taking too long and wanted to speed things up. According to Philip, Morag didn't like the changes Hatton wanted to make, and tried to push him out of the equation. It's when Hatton took over that the base of operations moved from Inchmore to the place you were taken to."

"And things started to speed up then."

"That would appear to be the case."

"But if they were taking girls a dozen or more at a time, why did they come back to get me?"

"You don't want to know." Spike's voice is quiet and his head down.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Hatton told me why you were wanted. You. Specifically. From what he said, you weren't going to stay locked up with the other girls for long."

"If you know something, it would be foolish to keep it to yourself," Giles chides. "We have no way of knowing which bit of information might be vital to the rescue of the remaining Slayers."

Spike locks his gaze with Giles for a moment, as if weighing him. Interestingly, it's Giles who breaks the connection.

"Sorry, Pet. I didn't want to tell you this, but Giles might just have something there. Anyway. Hatton said you were specially requested. He had a … buyer … already lined up for you. No one else would do."

"A buyer? For me?" I shudder at the prospect. "Who? Who'd want …"

"Angelus. No, …" He stops me from interrupting and reminding him that Angel's human now.

"Not your Angelus. This one's from an alternate dimension. In that dimension, things went a bit differently. Dru … Dru killed Willow before she could return Angel's soul. So … I don't know how the rest of the history worked out for them, but Angelus survived, soulless. Somehow, he managed to get his hands on you, or the Buffy from that universe. He kept her … don't know how long, and I can only guess it wasn't pretty. But she died. Angelus wants a replacement. He wants another Buffy to torment until he manages to kill her – you - too. That's what Hatton had in mind for you."

The shudder at the prospect of being sold has multiplied. I look at Spike, my eyes on his as they have been while he's been speaking, and it's like the rest of the world has ceased to exist. His eyes, so blue and expressive, are trying to see into my soul, trying to gauge my reaction to this news.

"Sorry, Pet. Didn't want to tell you, but …"

"No, Spike. I'm … glad you told me. It … pretty much confirms that the missing Slayers have been sold. And …"

His arms are around me in an instant, just holding me, making me feel safe. I take a couple of deep breaths before breaking away and looking at Gus and Giles. Gus looks pale and shaken, but then he knew one of the missing Slayers well, so he's got a personal stake in this too. Giles is cleaning his glasses so aggressively that I'm amazed that they survive the process.

"So, we can be pretty sure that the missing Slayers have been sold," I summarise. "But we've got no idea where they might be."

"Indeed. By all accounts, they could be in any of the infinite number of alternate universes which exist."

"So, how do we find them?"

"Well, the coven has had success finding Slayers before," Giles points out. "However, that was limited to this reality. I believe it should be possible to search other realities. Willow is certainly able to astrally project herself into other dimensions, and once there, she could search."

"But, as you said," Spike butts in. "There're an infinite number of possibilities. Unless we can cut that down somehow, then searching for our Slayers that way is like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack."

"Quite," Giles says softly.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30 ****- Glasgow, ****7 July 2005**

The idea that there are eight Slayers somewhere, in some world where they're being abused or used in some way, and that we can't get them out - it leaves me feeling so damn inadequate, I want to hit something. I think it's had much the same effect on the others. There's silence after Giles' quiet agreement, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

Moira comes in then, reminding me that I need to do something about my front door. Everyone seems to think they can just walk in without a thought and while I see that must've been useful when I was incapacitated, I'm definitely fit enough by now to answer my own bloody door.

As she always does, Moira doesn't immediately ask what�s going on. I'm pretty sure she knows exactly what we've been saying anyway.

She clears her throat, just in case anyone didn't spot her arrival, and I realise that neither Giles nor Gus did spot her.

"Mrs. McConnechie," Giles greets her warmly.

"Never mind the Mrs. McConnechie," she warns him. "You've been calling me Moira for over ten years, so if you've reverted, I'll take that as a sign of a guilty conscience."

"Just ... well, it's been a long time since I've seen you." It's fascinating to see Rupert Giles wrong-footed by this woman. He seems younger than ever - a small child being asked to account for himself by a powerful adult.

"Yes it has, Rupert. But not so long since we've talked. And that's what I'd like to do now. Can you come next door? It really would be better if what I had to say didn't have an audience."

"Would the office not be better?" Giles suggests.

"Not for my purposes," Moira says ominously. "I'll put the kettle on and I'll expect you in five minutes. Spike, can Dawn come in here for a bit?"

"The Bit's always welcome in here, Mrs. M. She knows that, or, at least, I hope she does."

Moira nods at that, smiling at me. I'm sniggering inside at the way she's treated Rupert and me. Rupert's the naughty little boy she needs to speak to privately, and I'm an adult - an equal. Rupert noticed too, and his face reddens just a touch although whether it's embarrassment or anger is hard to tell.

Gus takes his opportunity to retreat upstairs to get back to his role of collating information from all over, and Giles follows Moira next door. A moment later, our peace is shattered by Dawn's arrival. She, of course, wants to know what's happening, so between us, Buffy and I give her the edited version of Giles' news.

She's understandably upset by the apparent fate of the Slayers who're still missing, but by silent agreement, we didn't mention Buffy's intended fate, and Dawn doesn't think to ask about the special treatment that Buffy had.

It's a fairly sombre gathering, and while I'm desperate to try to lighten the mood somehow, I just don't know how to start.

In the absence of anything else to do just now, I turn my attention to the wall separating the two flats and concentrate on trying to hear what Moira's got to say to Giles. Before I can focus on anything more than the general buzz of conversation, I feel a wash of magic coming and I stiffen, worried that something bad is happening. I hear Moira's voice in my mind then, her tone amused.

"Go and flap your ears somewhere else, Vampire. What I've got to say to Rupert is between him and me. You've had your laugh at his expense, but that's all you're getting from me."

Cunning bloody witch. She knows me better than I'd like. Buffy spots me smiling and asks what's up. I tell her, and she grins widely. Somehow, for now, the desolation we all felt a moment ago is broken by that simple gesture.

"How's the tablet?" Buffy asks Dawn.

"Still cooling, but the bit I scraped out of the pan? Mmmm. Sugar paradise."

"Tablet? What's that?" I ask confused.

"Sort of like fudge but different. Moira taught me how to make it. She's going to take it to the Summer Fair at the local Kirk - that's church to you English and American people."

"So, what're you, Bit?"

"I'm an honorary Scot. I've decided."

"Oh, have you?" Buffy laughs back. "Does that mean you're not going back to school in September?"

"Oh, it's a long time till September. We've got so much to do before then."

"Like what?" I ask.

"Well, there's the Slayers to find and bring home, and I want to travel around a bit - see the Highlands, go to Edinburgh, although Moira didn't seem too keen on that idea."

"That's just big city rivalry," I tell her. "Glasgow's the biggest city in Scotland, but Edinburgh's the Capital. There's a lot of banter between people from the two cities, both groups believing they've got the best of it."

"Ah. By the way, Buffy, when are we due to go back?"

"Good thought, Dawn. I need to change our reservations. We were due to go back soon, but with things as they are, I can't see us going back to LA for a while. I hope it's ok with Moira for us to stay with her, but if not, we could always find a hotel."

"Never mind a bloody hotel. If there's a problem with Mrs. M., then you can always stay here - same deal as next door. There's an identical room here - not so well decorated or furnished, I'd wager, but I could sort that out if you like. I can't see Mrs. M. kicking you out though - not her style at all."

"Still, thanks. Hotels are ... restrictive."

"And expensive," I add.

She smiles at that. "Not too bad when the Council's paying," she reminds me.

"Like I'd know about that."

Not sure what to say then, so for once, I keep quiet. Truth is, I'm feeling like I need to do something. All this lying around might have been necessary, but I feel like doing something more worthwhile.

"Spike," Buffy's voice sounds nervous.

"Yes, Pet?"

"Thanks. I didn't get the chance to say it before, what with everything happening, and now I know what they had planned for me - well. After everything I did to you, how Giles treated you, sending you up here, you still risked your life coming after me. I ... do appreciate it."

"Didn't do it for you." My voice sounds uneven, and I swallow in an attempt to calm down a bit. "Did it because I've already seen a world where you were dead. Not planning on seeing that one again."

My concentration's been in Buffy's direction, although I've been looking down. As I finish speaking, I raise my head to look at her properly, but I'm tackled from behind.

"Dawn, what do you think you're doing?" Buffy demands. "You'll hurt him."

She jumps back, mumbling, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It's just ... I wanted to thank him too. For finding me the other night and for bringing Buffy back. I didn't think much of the world with you dead either."

I stand up and hold my arms out to her. She moves towards me, and I hold her tight, just hugging her. To my surprise, Buffy touches my arm, and I look to find she's beside us.

"Room for another one in that hug?" she asks.

"Only if it's you," I reply, and we both bring her into the circle. Idiot that I am, I feel my eyes misting over, so I blink furiously while no one can see, just enjoying this closeness with my girls. For the first time in forever, I feel like I'm at home - really at home. I've got no real ties to the place, no history here, but it's not the place that means home. Whatever else happens, my only priority is to keep these two girls in my life in any way I can.

I kiss Dawn's forehead and turn around to do the same to Buffy but she's looking up at me and my eyes are drawn to her lips. I duck down and kiss them, pleased that she doesn't turn away. It's just a friendly kiss - couldn't be anything else with Dawn involved like this - but it means everything to me.

* * *


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31** **- Glasgow, 10 July 2004**

It's been days, and nothing's happened. I feel like I'm going stir-crazy. Most of the time's been spent in the cramped Council office, searching through books, or online. The one good thing about Giles turning up like he did is the fact that we've now got a couple of wireless laptops up there in addition to the desktop that Gus had. We're scouring the Council archives from here, collating information from London and elsewhere, trying to find some link, some hint that will enable us to find the other Slayers.

The most startling bit of news is the presence of Angel in London. He and Giles were both in Cleveland when they heard about my kidnap and subsequent escape, and it seems that Giles took the opportunity to bury the years of animosity he's borne Angel and offer him a job - temporarily at least. That's why he's in London. For now, he's responsible for Philip since he's had more experience with the Senior Partners than anyone else there. I don't know what Giles' eventual plan will be, but I can't see Angel wanting to move away from LA permanently. It is 'his town' after all.

Giles did imply that Angel was shocked to find that Spike was not only alive but currently in the same city as I was. I've actually been half expecting him to call and berate me or something … I don't know. He knew that there wasn't going to be anything other than friendship between us, but the news that Spike's back on the scene is probably going to unsettle him.

Anyway, Giles giving Angel a job? My first reaction when I heard the news was absolute incredulity. I mean, after the hard time he's given Spike, to just go and offer Angel a job like that? I know, he offered Spike a job too, but it had strings attached, and I don't think Angel's has. It seems so unfair. Of course, the reason for the unfairness was quickly pointed out. Angel's human; Spike isn't. Giles still sees things in a much more black and white way than I do, and, while he's been civil to Spike since his conversation with Moira, that's all he's been. He's been distant from me, though, but that's probably for the best. He's going to have to be a damn sight more than civil to Spike before I'm happy with him.

Spike? What do I say about him? That hug downstairs, with Dawn was … warm. It was almost like coming home in the days when I'd hear Mom's voice coming from the kitchen, calling out to me. We've spent a lot of the last couple of days together, but, apart from feeling more comfortable with him than I can ever remember, it's been all about the work. Everyone's been involved, including Dawn, although Moira seems to be working on her own rather than as part of the group. I don't even know if Giles knows what she's up to. She's been great in other ways, too, taking Dawn out most days to do something other than research. Dawn's become really fond of her, and I know she'll miss her badly when we go back home.

I check my watch, noting that it's mid-morning, and I haven't seen Spike yet today. He's been well enough these past couple of days that he's been in the office doing his fair share of the research. I don't remember him being this involved before, but then, there's a lot about him I didn't notice, or at least, interpreted in the worst possible light.

When he comes in, Giles is on the phone, and Gus and I are knee deep in some faxed documents that have recently arrived from someone in Tunisia. Ok, I haven't exactly been giving it my full attention, what with thinking over the past few days, but it's not exactly riveting. I don't pretend to understand much of it, even though there's an English translation. It's all about portal opening, and it's pretty specialised.

"Gus, do you understand any of this?" I ask as Spike comes to look over my shoulder.

"What? It's in English. It's not a very elegant translation, but it's adequate."

"No, I mean the English. All this opening portals stuff seems to be extremely complicated."

"It is. You've got to have a great deal of power, and the concentration involved in opening a portal to a particular dimension is beyond all but the most focussed minds. I can't say I've ever tried it, although I have heard that incantations to one or two minor demons can be successful."

Giles puts the phone down, but he's obviously heard the exchange.

"You're right, Buffy. Opening portals isn't something to be played with. If you don't know what you're doing, it can all go horribly wrong, and using demons to do it for you is playing with fire."

There's been something niggling at me all along here, but for the first time, it crystallises, and I voice my feeling.

"Ok. But you said Philip wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer."

"Not the words I used, but yes, I wouldn't say he's among the brightest Watchers on the payroll."

"Then how did he do it? How did he open the portal to let the Fyarls take me through? ow HOr did someone else open it?"

"I don't know," he says thoughtfully. "I had assumed that the portal was opened from the other end, but now that I consider it, that would be extremely expensive from an energy point of view. If the Fyarls had been later than expected, …"

"There wasn't anybody there," Spike chips in. "If it wasn't done from the other end, then it had to be him. And if he was, …" He claps a hand on my shoulder. "How was he doing it?"

"I don't see that it matters," Giles bristles. "What is the relevance of his ability to open a portal to one particular dimension when our current business is finding the locations of the missing Slayers?"

"Maybe nothing," I agree. "But it's a missing piece. We're getting nowhere with any of this." I lift the pile of paper in front of me and let it fall back to the desk to make my point. "There's got to be a better way."

Giles sighs wearily. To be honest, I don't know where his hotel is, but I don't think he's using it for much more than an occasional change of clothes. He's here when I come up in the morning, and still here when I go back downstairs to sleep. "You're right," he concedes with a barely stifled yawn. "It's worth finding out. I'll call Angel and get him to ask Philip."

"Will that compromise him?" Gus seems concerned.

"No more than necessary. Using his Wolfram and Hart experience, Angel is using some psychics to remain in contact with Philip. They're also hidden from the Senior Partners, but they're just a call away from Angel. Of course, if Philip doesn't feel like co-operating, we can always threaten to send someone around to his door."

He lifts the phone beside him and starts to dial.

Spike's been behind me during that exchange, and I can feel that he's excited about something, but somehow, I don't think it's got anything to do with Philip.

"What's up?" I ask, turning towards him. All sign of injury is gone. There's not even any visible bruising, and he's back to standing on his toes as if he's ready to pounce at any moment.

"Feel like some exercise?"

Now, there are many possible interpretations of that question, and some of them sound much more inviting than others.

"What do you have in mind?" I ask, warily.

"Well, I've been offered this job. Shouldn't take too long. I could probably do it on my own, but it'd be better with back up."

"Job? What sort of job?"

"Pack of Fyarls. They've moved into some Bloxar territory. You'd even get to do some sightseeing, since it's out by Loch Lomond."

"How many?"

"Don't know for sure, so we'd have to do some snooping first. Packs of those don't tend to be too big, though. I reckon it's because they don't get on with anyone too well - even their own kind."

"You up to it?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't think so. Last thing I want is for you to show me up." His grin is back to the way I remember it – cocky and sure of himself.

"Don't you think there's something more important going on here?" Giles sounds irritable as he puts the phone down again.

"Because we're just making such progress with all this research."

I smile at Spike's tone, because it's measured to cause maximum irritation.

"Spike's right. We're not getting anywhere here, and if I don't get a chance to flex my muscles soon, I'm going to start breaking furniture. Seriously, a Slayer with nothing to slay is a cranky Slayer."

"And if you get hurt?"

"I spent years going out every night, risking my life every time. Why is this different?"

"Because you used to go out to protect people. And now, when we've got Slayers in need of rescue, you're thinking about risking your life to save some demons."

"Spike, Bloxar demons. What're they like?"

"Harmless unless you're an insect or a fish."

"That true, Giles?"

"I don't think I'm familiar with the species. I've heard the name, but there's not much known about them."

"That's probably because they aren't a threat to humans," Spike surmises. "Probably don't even register on the Council's radar. Might even get some information. Fyarls moving in like that - there might be a connection to Morag."

I glance at Giles, but he's looking resigned. I suspect there'll be no chance to get him back to anything like normal until we've rescued all the Slayers.

"So, when do you want to do it?" I turn back to Spike.

"Thought we'd drive up there this afternoon, have a bit of a look around. We'll have to park the car and take off into the hills for a bit, but we can't do that until it's getting dark. Be a good idea to wear some sensible shoes. The directions I asked for arrived in the post this morning, and they look pretty clear. In the dark, they probably won't see us coming anyway. Should work out fine."

"I'll have to change."

"You look fine to me, well, apart from the shoes."

"And if I put on what you call 'sensible shoes' then I'll need shorter pants than these. And it'd be better if they weren't jeans if we're going marching about a damp hillside. Once they get wet, they flap around your ankles and it's all icky. I'm sure I've got something that'll dry out quicker, but I'll have to make sure it's clean."

"Because you couldn't possibly slay in dirty trousers, now could you?

I grin at him. I enjoy the banter, and it's actually better when it's done good-naturedly than when it was full of dislike.

I run downstairs, pausing in the kitchen to make sure it's ok with Moira for me to leave Dawn. I explain what we're doing, and she smiles.

"About time you got to do something together. Probably the best sort of thing too, given your history."

"You wouldn't be match-making?" I tease.

"If it's taken you this long to work that out, I'm going to have to be much more blatant about it."

"Does Spike know?"

"Spike? I don't honestly know. He knows I wanted him to contact you all along of course, but whether he realises the full extent of my ambition? I doubt it. His expectations for himself are so low that I don't think he can imagine someone else wanting something for him."

"And what if we don't want it?"

"Well, if you don't, then it won't happen. I just want to make sure that it can happen if you do want it."

I turn to go into the bedroom, but on a whim, I turn back to where she's standing at the worktop, apparently cutting vegetables. Her hands are still, and she's got her head cocked to one side.

"You're listening to what's happening upstairs, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. How else can I find out what's happening? I mean, you tell me some things, but I won't know if I can help if I don't know everything, now will I?"

I smile at that, and get a surprisingly mischievous grin in return.

Spike takes a roundabout route to get where we're going, around lochs and up hills and down dales. The day is dry, but as it gets later, it becomes more overcast. He stops at a hotel overlooking Loch Ard where we can both get out of the car without dodging sunshine, and we share a lovely meal at a table overlooking the loch. Dusk is approaching when Spike finally pulls the car into a car park on a road above Loch Lomond. Even in the failing light, everything's so green, and the water below is still and shimmering in the remaining sunlight. Instead of hurrying me along, Spike lets me drink it in for a few minutes before consulting his map.

"Is this where the monster lives?" I ask. It all seems so open and bright. It's hard to imagine a monster as part of this.

"No, Pet. That's Loch Ness you're thinking of. That'd be why she's called Nessie. Loch Ness is a way north of here - too far to go today. I've never been myself, but we could go and take a look when this is all over, if you'd like."

"I would," I agree, and I really mean it. This afternoon's been a real treat. Just being out and about with him, chatting, listening to what's happened to him since Sunnydale, has been so special. I turn to look at him, and the temptation to grab him and kiss him is so overwhelming that I force myself to get out of the car instead. The sun's very low already, and between that and the cloud cover, Spike should be ok.

Apparently without considering the sunlight, Spike gets out the other side. I suppose he's been a vampire long enough that he's a pretty good judge of light levels, but it makes me shiver just thinking about the risk.

We walk for about a mile, most of it uphill, before we reach a point that's well-sheltered by low, brushy bushes and overlooking a small valley. We crouch down, and Spike scans the distance.

"See over there," he says at last. "On the left, where the hill rises steeply?"

I look where he's pointing. There's a hole in the ground and part of the grassy bank.

"That's the lair the Bloxars used to use. They've been forced to move to another one about a mile away. The entrance you see apparently takes you into a steep incline that leads to a cave system. Go far enough, and there's access to the loch."

"What do you think?" I ask. "Should we just go up to them, taunt them a bit and see what they do, or did you have another plan?"

"I'd like to watch for a bit. I'd have expected to see some sign of life - they're not exactly known for hiding, are Fyarls. They're not especially anxious for humans to spot them, but this time of day, there're probably not many people about."

We stay still and quiet but Spike, rather disconcertingly, starts sniffing the air.

"What is it?"

"That smell," he answers. "Just got it there, when the wind changed direction. Putrid. There's something dead over there."

With that, he's off at a fast pace, and I'm running in his wake. He goes straight for the entrance, and disappears inside. When I catch up, he's looking at the body of a Fyarl demon. At least, I think it's one body, but it might be more. Whatever it is, it's been ripped to pieces.

* * *


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32 – Glasgow, 22 July 2004

I had only been joking when I suggested finding something to do with Morag at the Fyarls' lair. I just said that to make it easier for Buffy to do what she so obviously wanted to do – get out and about and do some Slaying. It's just too much of a coincidence to believe that now. There's not much in this world that could make mincemeat of this many Fyarls. Ok, so Buffy and I were planning to do it, well, maybe without the actual mincemeat, but this goes beyond mere killing. Looking at what we found, I'd reckon that they were actually pulled apart, and I'm struggling to work out exactly what could get close enough to a Fyarl to do that.

I was able to find a couple of torches not too far inside the cave, and I lit one to let us search more thoroughly. The place is a mess - I mean, Fyarls aren't exactly known for their housekeeping, but judging by the fact that there're body parts and other bits and pieces lying randomly about the cave, I'd have to assume that the place was ransacked in addition to the massacre. We continue through the debris, neither of us feeling the need to speak, until we finally reach the other exit. This one leads, as I was told, directly to the loch, just a few feet below. It's close to the exit that I hear the tell-tale sound of broken glass beneath my feet. I bend down and pick up the largest shard I can find, bringing it cautiously to my nose. The smell's overpowering, but familiar. Buffy reaches over to take a sniff, and wrinkles her nose at the result.

"Smells like … nail polish remover. Since when did Fyarls bother about a good manicure?"

"That's exactly what it is, but it's not just for fingernails. Some demons drink the stuff. They prefer some other ketones, but acetone'll give them a pretty big high. Looks like they were throwing a party."

And it does. The ground between the cave exit and the water's edge is a small, pebbly beach, and the amount of glass close to the surface, and the way it's sharp and still clear, tells me it's recent. It looks like there's been an attempt to sweep it outside the cave. I pick up several bits of glass from all over, and it all smells the same.

"Something else there too," I comment when I get back to the cave.

"Wasn't sure at first because the acetone's pretty overpowering, but I think there was something else in those bottles. I'll see what Giles' contacts make of it when we get back."

Buffy nods. "What could do this, Spike?"

"To a living Fyarl? Not much. Reckon I could, if the Fyarls were unconscious, though. That's why I want this glass checked out. If my guess is right, that's what happened."

"So, they were, what? Drugged? Then pulled apart? Why? There must be easier ways to kill them."

"Well, the drugging would definitely make it easier, but the actual method of killing could be a warning to others not to get involved, I suppose."

"You think it's the Senior Partners?"

"Seems a bit of a coincidence for it to be anyone else, doesn't it?"

"I suppose. So, is this meant as a message for us or for someone else?"

"Good question. Though, unless those Bloxars are involved somehow, I don't know how we could be linked to this."

We drive back to Glasgow in comparative silence, but it's clear that Buffy's on edge. She's hardly able to sit still, and I'm on the verge of barking at her more than once as we drive. Of course, the main reason I'm finding her twitchiness irritating is that I'm not exactly feeling that calm myself. Once in the city, I decide not to head back to Moira's, but instead drive south of the river to an area that has often provided me with some much-needed violence. Buffy seems to understand that without me spelling it out, too. We came on this trip with the aim of working off all the time we've been spending sitting around, and instead we've found a slaughter. We both badly need some way of letting off steam, and, since I haven't been in this particular area for a few weeks, we aren't disappointed. In addition to sundry nasties, we also come across a small nest of vampires. It takes us an hour and a half, but by the end of it, I'm feeling a lot better and if I judge by the glow on her cheeks and the smile on her face, I'd hazard that Buffy is too. Course, it's not just that. She always did find a good fight … invigorating ... and she's sending definite signals that she's ready for a different kind of work out. Oh, I don't mean she's doing anything that would be obvious to a human, 'cos she isn't. It's just that my senses are a bit more finely tuned than any human's.

Arriving back at Moira's is difficult. Spending the evening in her company, especially that last bit, aware of the signals her scent and heartbeat are sending out ... She opens Moira's door, then turns to face me. She seems to be expecting something, so I kiss her. This kiss is a little more than friendly, it's more of a re-acquaintance and it takes every bit of resolve I have to pull away before things get out of hand. Letting physical attraction get the better of us is what caused half the problems last time. This time, I'm actually daring to hope that we might have a chance to get it right, but at the same time I'm bloody terrified that I'm going to do something to kill that chance dead.

It takes a long time before I get any sleep after that. Every detail of the way she moved while she fought, every sound she made is etched on my memory. It's well after sunrise before I finally win that battle and find some peace.

The peace, of course, isn't long-lived, since all too soon, Dawn's let herself into the flat and I can hear her crashing about in the kitchen. I haul myself out of bed and pull on the pair of jeans I discarded last night, then grab the first t-shirt I find and go to see what she's up to.

The sound of the microwave announcing that it's finished greets me as I reach the doorway, and I see her open the door and pull out a mug filled with blood. She turns quickly, then stops short when she sees me.

"Don't creep up on me like that! Hasn't anyone ever told you to get a bell round your neck? If I've spilled any of this on my top, then that's the last time I decide to do you breakfast in bed."

She looks down at her clothes, but they seem clean to me.

"Well, last time I checked, this was my flat, so I'd say I'm allowed to creep up on people if I want to." I hold out my hand for the mug which she hands over with an indignant sound that only teenagers are capable of making.

"To what do I owe the room service?" I ask before taking a mouthful.

"Well? What happened?"

"What happened when?"

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Last night. You and Buffy. What happened?"

"We went out, we found that someone had beaten us to the Fyarls so we went and found some vamps. We slayed and we came back here."

"That's almost exactly what Buffy said!"

"Glad to hear it."

"Well, I'm not. I'm not interested in the slayage. I want to know what else happened. You were out for hours, and a lot of it was daylight. You weren't dusting vamps all that time."

"No, we took the scenic roads around a few lochs and took in the view."

"And?"

"Dawn, …"

"I know. I need to mind my own business, but sometimes I feel like I just need to scream. You love her, and I know she loves you. Even Moira thinks you should get together, and that's like having your grandmother approving, so it's got to be good. Why can't you just … Or did you?"

"Like you said, Bit. Not your business. Buffy and me? We don't know what we really want yet. Just her finding out I'm still walking and talking, and me finding she doesn't want to stake me … it's all pretty new. And anyway, if you want to know, why don't you ask her?"

"Like she'd tell me anything important."

"But you did ask."

"Yeah, and she didn't even mention the scenic route. But she did tell me to get out of the room and let her sleep."

"So you thought you'd come in here and wake me."

"Not right away! It's … hours since I left her."

I glance at the clock on the cooker, then look back.

"Hours? Since when do you get up that early?"

"Well, an hour anyway," she admits.

I raise an eyebrow and hold her gaze.

"Well, maybe half an hour."

"A whole half hour, eh? That's what I call patience."

She has the grace to look a little embarrassed at that, so I soften it with a smile. Then I finish processing everything she's just told me.

"You said Moira wanted us to get together?"

She gives me that 'Are you stupid?' look and fixes me with that wide-eyed expression she has.

"Yeah, I get that she set Buffy up to come here, but that doesn't mean she'd want the Slayer mixed up with another vampire, now does it?"

"Moira wants to see you both happy. She didn't really know Buffy when she invited her over, so it started with wanting to make you happy, I guess, but … She knows things - about people. A bit like Tara did, but better."

"That she does, Bit. Never said otherwise, but I reckon her wanting Buffy over here had more to do with me coming clean rather than her wanting to do some matchmaking."

The sigh that follows that is one that is only possible when Dawn feels that she's the only person around with any sense – something that happens a good deal more often than any reasonable person would believe. She flounces off upstairs at that, leaving me trying desperately not to hope too much.

* * *


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

I try to get back to sleep after Dawn goes, but I know it's a lost cause. I don't get up though, because that'd just let Dawn know she won, and we can't have that. There are certain rules when it comes to dealing with sisters.

And so I lie there, thinking about everything that's happened recently. It's all so huge – everything – from the disappearance of the Slayers to the finding that Spike's still on this earth to ...

It's no good. I'm just not the girl to worry about multiple problems at one time. I need to focus. And, on the grounds that there are plenty of people currently focussing on the other Slayers, I turn my thoughts to something rather more personal.

Last night. Everything about it – all of yesterday in fact – was perfect. Ok, not so perfect wading my way through bits of Fyarl, but the rest of it was amazing. I fit so well with Spike. We chatted, we laughed, we enjoyed the scenery, but when we were quiet, it was a comfortable quiet. I didn't feel like I had to do anything other than just be me.

I've got other friends. Willow and Xander stuck with me through everything, but there was always this thing where I was the Slayer. Somehow, it was up to me to fulfil their expectations. Spike doesn't seem to have any or at least none that leave me feeling uncomfortable.

And slaying with him brought back every memory of before. All those times

when killing demons was just a strange sort of foreplay. By the time we got back here, I desperately wanted to be with him, but I couldn't invite him in here – not when I'm sharing a room with Dawn. I had no choice but to wait and see if he'd invite me into his place, but despite ample evidence that he was feeling the same way I did, there was no invitation.

I did consider going and knocking on his door afterwards – just waiting until he answered and then kissing him again, but that had too many overtones of our history, with me leading, taking what I wanted without giving him a choice. So, instead, I came in here, listened to Dawn breathing, and desperately wished I was with him instead.

I'm pulled from those thoughts by the sound of the front door slamming. Funny how a girl who's made progress in so many ways still seems not to believe that a door's closed unless people for miles around heard it. It's probably as well she isn't a Slayer, or no door anywhere would be safe. By the sound of it, she doesn't go upstairs, and I strain to hear something to indicate her intention when I pick up the sound of another door opening – Spike's. Typical. I won't tell her about what happened yesterday, so she goes to ask Spike. Of course, since nothing really happened, Spike won't be as soft a touch as she thinks.

I pull the duvet up to my shoulders and give sleep another go, but when I hear another door slamming followed by a less-that-stealthy tread on the stairs, I know Dawn's gone upstairs to the Council office, and the guilt I'd managed to suppress in considering the Spike problem comes back. There are Slayers who need rescuing, and I've got no business lying in bed.

I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom, where a shower restores me to something like normality. When I reach the kitchen, Moira's already busy, chopping vegetables, but immediately stops that to put the kettle on for me.

"Can I make you some breakfast?" she asks. "There're eggs, or porridge if you prefer. Or toast?"

"Toast'd be fine," I answer. "But I'll do it. What're you making?"

"Soup. Carrots and turnip to add to the broth mix I left out to soak overnight. I've got some nice mutton stock in the fridge."

I'm not altogether sure what to make of that, but get a couple of slices of bread and put them into the toaster before making some coffee. While I'm waiting for the toast to finish, Moira asks about the night before.

I give her the details about our drive around, remembering as many place names as I can, then get to the Fyarl lair, and tell her what we found.

"And you say Spike's got some of the bits of glass?" she asks when I get to that point.

"Yes ... no. I've got them. I put them in my purse when we got back to the car."

"Can I see them?"

"Sure," I answer before going back to the bedroom to retrieve them. We wrapped them in plastic, but to be honest, there's not much to see.

Moira carefully takes the shards from me, and oddly, closes her eyes.

"Spike said they had a smell besides nail polish remover," I remember as I watch her.

"They may well do, but there's a distinct aura of magic about them. I'd wager that whatever knocked out those Fyarls wasn't purely chemical in nature."

She unwraps one of the shards then, and sniffs it cautiously. She pulls her head back quickly as if bitten by something.

"What's wrong?" I ask, going to her quickly as she almost staggers backwards.

"Still potent," she says, shaking her head as if to regain her wits. "Even in tiny quantities, it's potent. Did you notice anything last night?"

"No. I could smell something, but ..."

"Could be that the effect has been concentrated by being wrapped up, and then again, a Slayer and a vampire are bound to have greater resistance than a mere mortal."

"Are you ok?" I ask.

"I will be. I just need to sit down for a minute."

I help her to a chair. It's funny, I know Moira's easily old enough to be my grandmother, but I've never considered for a moment that she might be frail. She's always seemed so strong and in control, and by the time she's been sitting for a couple of moments, she seems back to normal.

I eat my breakfast while Moira finishes preparing her soup, and then, after making sure she's really ok, I go upstairs to see how things are going.

Spike's already there, on the phone, talking, by the sound of it, to one of his contacts. Dawn's nose is buried in a book, while Giles is reading something on a computer screen.

I approach him and pull out the shards which have been re-wrapped in plastic. I explain the effect they had on Moira, and he agrees to get them checked out. When he's put the shards in some packaging, he returns his attention to the computer, pulls up an email and invites me to read it.

_My chat with Phillip yielded something interesting. I'm on the first flight up – it's too important to give details here or to entrust to someone else. Flight details BD002, getting into Glasgow_ _at 10.05. _

_Angel_

"He's coming here?" I ask.

"That's what it says. Gus has gone to get him. Should be here soon."

"And using email?"

"Well, it's come from my secretary's email address, but I did tell her to help him if required."

"Who should be here soon?" Spike asks. He's finished his call, and is looking expectantly at us.

"Angel," I answer.

"Why? What's he need to come here for?"

"He says he's got something interesting from Philip that he doesn't trust anyone else to bring. Gus went to get him." I'm trying to show Spike that it's all perfectly reasonable, when I'm not altogether sure myself.

"You said Gus was out on an errand," he looks at Giles accusingly.

"And so he is," Giles replies, his voice deceptively mild.

"You didn't think I needed to know he was coming?"

"I thought Buffy needed to know first. Since she's obviously happy for you to have that information, then I have no reason to keep it from you."

"Why would I ...?" I'm genuinely confused, but Giles interrupts.

"Buffy, I don't know what's going on with you and Angel but I think it's only fair to give you some warning that two of your past ... love interests ... are liable to be in the same place at the same time – especially when they have a history of rather disliking one another."

"So, you thought, what? That she'd get me out of the way so I didn't upset poor little Angel?"

"Spike, I didn't think anything in particular. I merely wished to save Buffy the pain of having the two of you trying to knock lumps out of one another."

"Spike," my voice seems to be getting through his mounting rage – rage that I know perfectly well is being fuelled by insecurity. "Angel's coming to pass something on to us. That's all, as far as I'm concerned, although I would appreciate it if I didn't have to come to his rescue. I don't think he'd be any match for you in a fight now, so I really couldn't let you hurt him."

He takes a deep breath. "Not worth the effort, then," he murmurs before standing. "I've got to go and meet someone. Probably nothing, but he refuses to talk on the phone. Should be back in a couple of hours."

I follow him out to the top of the stairs. "Spike, I've already made my decision as regards Angel. We might not have come to any decisions regarding us, but that doesn't change anything between me and Angel. You do know that, don't you?"

He smiles at that, but it's a self-conscious smile. He points at his head.

"In here, I know it. Other parts," he moves his finger lower, to his heart, "maybe not so sure. But there's no doubt on this side, Buffy. I love you, and if we've got any chance of making a go of things this time, of getting it right, then, far as I'm concerned, there's no decision to be made. I'm in. Only question is whether you're in it with me."

"I am," I say quietly. "We need to take it carefully, but if we've got a chance, then I want it. I'm in too."

His expression changes suddenly then, becoming that awe-struck, glowing one that I can remember seeing so rarely in the past. He kisses me then, and it's enough to set my world spinning. When he finally lets me go, I'm breathless.

"I've got to go," he says.

"I know. But Spike ..."

"Yeah?"

"I've got this little problem. Dawn snores. Do you think maybe I could ... come over to you tonight and see if I can get some sleep?"

"Course you can," he says with a slight tremor in his voice. "Not sure it'll be a guarantee of getting more sleep, but ..."

"See you later," I say before kissing him once more on the lips and returning to the office.

* * *


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34** **- Glasgow 23 July 2004**

You know, just when I think I know what she's thinking, she goes and surprises me. 'Surprises' just doesn't seem extreme enough as I make my way down the stairs on my way to the tunnel, but it'll do for now.

Buffy wants there to be an us. She wants to give things a go between us. She wants me in her life. It's all I can do to keep my mind on business as I make my way through the tunnels to my appointment, but as I get closer, I force my mind back.

Russell's human and sleazy enough to give humans a bad name. He's a coward; he's money-grabbing and weak with more vices than most demons. How he survives, I have no idea, but he's at least half afraid of me, and I've been using that leverage. Not that I've got any misconceptions that he's in my pocket or anything, but until something scarier comes along, he's willing to pass on information.

The meeting place, unusually, is his flat. He said what he had to tell me was important, and that he'd be killed if anyone saw him talking to me. I take the paper with his address out of a pocket, double-checking the street name. It's south of the river, in one of the less salubrious areas of the city.

The tunnels have been quiet – they're exclusively service bores for the underground system, and that goes deeper as it goes under the Clyde. When I get to the manhole nearest my destination, I peer out cautiously, and sure enough, the street's in shadow as he said it would be, and the entrance to the flats is just a few steps away.

I go in and climb the six flights of stairs to the flat bearing his name on a tacky brass plate that's badly in need of cleaning. The door's in need of a coat of paint too, but then, so are the others I passed on the way up, and the one next door to this one has been boarded up completely. I knock on the door, and don't have to wait long before it's answered.

Russell looks worse than usual, his skin grey and eyes heavy as if he hasn't slept, but then I don't suppose I've ever seen him this early in the day. He doesn't speak, just pokes his head out of the doorway, checking that I'm alone, before muttering the magic words - "Come in, Spike."

I follow him inside, into a dark hallway. The carpet's lumpy, and I don't want to wonder what caused the various stains I can see. He moves towards a door to the right, and again, I follow. He's nervous - more than usual, but then, he's scared of so many people, it's pretty much a way of life for him. I've got the distinct feeling that something's very wrong, but I don't stop to analyse why, just increase my alertness. As the door opens, I know. I don't know how or why, but I know. Angel's here, and he's not human.

He's standing at the other end of a dingy living room, a smile fixed on his face.

"I'll, just, er … go out. I've got some business." Russell's voice is disgustingly obsequious.

"You do that," Angel answers absentmindedly. His gaze is fixed on me.

"William, so glad you could join us."

"I thought we'd got over all that by now - that you'd given up calling me that. It's been Spike for a hell of a lot longer than it was William."

"Ah, but to me, you'll always be William. William the pretty. William with his poetry and his undying love for Drusilla. William, the eternal victim."

Of course, I was wrong. It's not Angel, it's Angelus. It's him, but it's not. There's something different about him, something subtle, otherwise I'm sure I'd have recognised him before I got this close.

"Angelus. So, what happened this time? Get caught by surprise in London?"

"Well, no. You're right, of course. I'm not that travesty of a souled vampire. Unlike, according to my sources, you. Did have one for a while, of course, but I played it better than the version of me from this dimension. I did consider releasing hell on earth through Acathala, but I was just having too much fun being a thorn in the side of Buffy and her little band of helpers. I picked them off, one at a time. The witch was the first to go. The gypsy witch that is. Then, the little red-headed one. She was surprisingly sweet too. I left the boy till last. What was his name again? Xander? I can honestly say he's the only person, other than Buffy, of course, that I've ever enjoyed torturing more than you."

"You're the one who wanted to buy Buffy."

"Ten out of ten. Good to know you're not quite as stupid as your counterpart in my world."

"What I don't understand is why you're here."

"Simple. I paid the Senior Partners a lot of money for a commodity. A commodity that, apparently, you were instrumental in denying me. And of course, I shouldn't make deals with lawyers, because there was this little clause written into the contract which said that if I interfered with the plan in any way then the contract was void and all money lost. As far as they're concerned, you, being my get, is seen as me interfering. I argued, of course, but you don't win legal arguments against that lot. So, when I went to remonstrate with them, they gave me an alternative way of getting my hands on her. So, here I am. And it was really disturbingly easy to persuade Russell to help me. The fact that he watched me torturing a couple of his customers might have had something to do with it. But you? Falling for it? Seems you're still the worthless imbecile you always were."

Stupid git always did like the sound of his own voice. Anger has been building from the moment I realised that this is the monster who thought he could buy Buffy - who's already killed her, and wants to do it again. But I held back, studying him, trying to spot the best time to attack, and I reckon that time is now. Either that or it's just desperation to stop him talking. I move as quickly as I can - I've always had the advantage of speed over him, while he's had height and a sheer malice that I could never match. And for about two minutes, it looks like I'm getting somewhere. But then he spoils it by pulling something from his pocket and driving it into my shoulder. If he'd been aiming for my chest, I might have taken it more seriously, but of course, it's not a stake, but a taser, and it's got plenty of juice, judging by the way I drop to the ground, my legs unable to keep me upright.

"See, William? Still a victim. You see, to get to Buffy, you've got to pick off her support. It's easy if you do it one by one, and it just makes her more and more careless as she realises she's all alone."

There's movement at the doorway, and a couple of vamps come in.

"Get him out of here," Angelus commands, then pauses. "Wait." He applies the taser again, this time much lower, and there's a short spell of agony before everything goes black.

* * *


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35** - **Glasgow 23 July 2004**

I stay there for a moment, just putting myself back into Slayer mode before I join the others. Seriously, the grin I've got on my face just now would give away far too much before I'm ready. I know I'm going to have to lay down some rules for Giles, and grinning like a love-sick teen is not going to make him take me seriously. I'm still there when the door opens and Giles comes out. He must've been listening for Spike to leave, and suddenly, remembering the way he's treated Spike lately, the grin melts away quite naturally.

"I've taken the liberty of asking Gus to tell Angel that Spike's here. I didn't mention it to him when I was in London because I didn't honestly think there was any likelihood of them being within a hundred of miles of each other."

"Ok. But … Giles, I'm telling you this because I've made a decision. It's not a decision that I'm going to change because of anything you, or anyone else, say. You can either accept it or not, but I'm beyond caring. As of now, Spike and I are together. We're going to try to make things work, and I honestly think we've got a good chance, but if you, or anyone else tries to stop that, then I'll have to reconsider those I call my friends."

"I see. If that's how you feel, then so be it. You have my word that I won't interfere, but I can't promise to like him."

"Like him, hate him, your choice. But, he's on my team, so if you want me on yours, treat him with a bit of respect. He's earned it."

He looks at me for what seems like a long time, and I know he's measuring just how determined I am. At last, he nods before turning around and going back into the office. I follow him, and go to take look at what Dawn's doing.

Minutes later, I hear the sound of steps approaching the office, and look up to see Gus, followed by Angel. My greeting is low-key, but Angel's looking at me as if he's expecting some sort of reaction. I know I need to talk to him, but I'm not going to do that with all these onlookers. Anyway, he's got a reason for coming here - something important, apparently - so it's up to him to share his news.

By the time he's ready and seated with a cup of coffee to hand, it's Dawn who breaks the impasse.

"So, what was so important you had to come up here?"

Sometimes there's an advantage in a lack of tact.

"Well, as Giles directed, I contacted Phillip. I asked him how he managed to open up portals when that's something that requires a greater level of mental capacity than he'd given any evidence of."

Seems Dawn's not the only person lacking in tact.

"His first reaction was to bluster, but I threatened that if he didn't tell us the truth, then we'd stop hiding him. After that, he produced this."

He pulls a pendant out of his pocket. It's a gold-coloured chain with a clear phial on the end. In the phial there seems to be a dark, red-brown liquid.

"Is that …" I ask.

"Blood? Yes. Slayer blood. A tiny sample was taken from each of the first few Slayers, and placed here."

"But how …?"

"Of course," Giles interrupts. "Like calls to like. Given that number of Slayers all in a single location, using this to focus a portal opening … It's a very elegant solution."

"It's always blood," I mutter, remembering Spike's words of what seems like aeons ago. I shake my head, putting him out of my head for now. "So, can we use this to find the other Slayers?"

Giles answers. "Not directly, I suspect, although I'll have a chat with my contacts at the coven. However, it does give us a very significant avenue for further investigation. Even if we can't use the phial as it is, getting our hands on further samples of Slayer blood would probably be fairly simple."

"Yeah, assuming the girls we rescued don't run a mile when they see us coming."

Giles immediately gets on the phone, and Gus pulls out a couple of huge books. Dawn seems interested, but I'm not, and neither, by the look of it, is Angel.

"Can we talk?" he asks, quietly.

"Sure. Want to come downstairs? It's where I'm staying just now - with Moira. She's well worth meeting too."

When we get downstairs, Moira's gone out, so I take Angel into the living room. He seems rather bemused by the sheer fullness of the room - every wall covered with shelves and each shelf with memories.

"Moira's husband was a Watcher. She's a witch," I offer as he looks around.

He nods, then turns his attention to me.

"So, how are you?"

"Well, apart from a whole lot of missing Slayers, yeah. I'm … ok."

"And Spike? He survived the battle. Must've been a shock for you. I know it was when Gus told me."

"A shock? Yeah."

"Funny, I thought he'd turned around. Thought he'd finally worked out which side he was on, where he could do some good."

"He has. He … he assumed that with you human, we'd be together, and he couldn't bear to see that. So yes, he ran. He ran to Giles. He ran to working for the Council. So I think he knows which side he's on."

"But working with him - must be hard."

"No, I wouldn't say that. It's been like it used to be - in Sunnydale - towards the end. We fought well together."

"Oh."

There's an awkward silence then. He doesn't know what to say, and I know what I've got to say, but actually saying the words is hard. I take a deep breath.

"Angel, you should know. Spike and me? We're going to try to be together."

"Oh."

"Well, that's not the reaction I was expecting."

"No, I don't suppose it is. Given that he's back, I suppose I thought it might happen. Maybe not this fast, but …"

"You thought …?"

"Suspected."

I'm momentarily furious. It sounds like he thinks the only reason I wasn't interested in him was because there was someone else. As if he's so special no one could turn him down unless they … But I force my anger down. Maybe it was something else. I did tell him Spike was in my heart - maybe it wasn't too big a leap from there.

"I think I knew in LA, that Spike was a ghost in your past that wasn't going to let you move on. Except it turns out he's not a ghost after all."

I just nod. Maybe he's right. I'm not sure it's important just now.

"So where's Spike now?"

"He had a meeting - someone with information that might help us to locate the Slayers."

"And what're you going to do now?"

"Go back upstairs and research, I suppose. You?"

"I'm on the Council payroll for now, but if you'd rather I wasn't here, I'll go back to London right away. It'll be … difficult for me to see you and Spike together, and it's bound to make things harder for you. So, I'll keep out of your way. Looks like Glasgow's your town for now."

I smile at that. It seems we've both come a long way.

"Stay for now. We'll see where this new information gets us. I'll ask Spike to behave, but I need you to do that too."

"I'll do my best," he promises.

We go back upstairs, and take our places in the research party. I'm clock-watching, and I know it, counting the minutes until Spike gets back and we can get out and do something other than reading. The minutes tick by with agonising slowness, and I'm feeling more and more like I'm going to explode.

My phone rings. Dawn looks up at me - grinning when she seems my expression as I read the caller's name. I just don't know why he's calling rather than coming back.

"Hello, lover."

I'm frozen for a second. The voice is agonisingly familiar, but it belongs to the face opposite me.

"I've got something I think might be important to you, although I can't imagine why."

I have no idea how, but I know that the voice belongs to Angelus.

"Don't worry. I'll take real good care of him until you get here. Then we'll have a party - just the three of us."

"If you hurt him …"

"Why would I hurt him? Oh, wait. That one's easy. Because it's just so much fun. More fun with you here, though. See you real soon."

And then he's gone. Angel's looking at me, mystified.

"What is it?"

"It's Spike. Angelus has him."

* * *


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36** – **Glasgow, 23 July 2004**

I know I'm on a floor, and I know I'm chained up. Those two things filter into my mind before anything else. The picture becomes slowly clearer, little details adding to the whole - the floor's wooden, not the stone more usually associated with manacles and dungeons. Then there's the warmth. Dungeons are supposed to be cold, dank and dark, but this isn't. The light is one of the final options to dawn, as I'm only certain of that when I open my eyes. I'd already been pretty sure I was alone, and a quick glance around the room confirms that.

I admit I'm surprised. Given the circumstances when I lost consciousness, I fully expected to come round to Angelus' leer and a whole lot of pain. Instead, there's the remaining discomfort of the taser and the rather more basic discomfort of being chained in a less-than-ideal position, but beyond that, nothing to really complain about.

I pull on the chains. The links themselves are pretty strong, so I'm not going to break them. The wall might be a different matter. I can't be sure of course, but given my previous experience of taser-induced unconsciousness, it can't be too long since Angelus surprised me at Russell's, so I assume I'm still in, or close to, Glasgow. The room has windows at ground level, but as of now, there's no direct sunshine. Given Angelus' avowed intention of keeping me in more or less one piece until he can get his hands on Buffy, I suspect that's not going to change much.

The wooden floor boards are uneven and rough, the room probably intended as a bedroom, and it's bare except for the chains which seem to have been set into the stone of the outside wall. The plaster's been stripped away to get access to the stone, and, by the look of it, recently too. I suspect it's been done for my benefit.

Some of the old buildings around here are built from huge stone blocks, and the walls can be very thick. Craning my neck around to get a better look at this one, it's reddish, and I think it's probably sandstone. Given that, I can probably work at it slowly, and in time, I might be able to prise the fixings out of the wall. Of course, I probably don't have that much time, so a plan B would be useful if I can come up with one.

Still, while I'm thinking, I make an effort to keep pulling on the chains - not much more than a small contraction of my arm muscles, but the sort of thing that I know will gradually weaken the fixings without being too obvious or tiring.

I hear a sound approaching, and my heart sinks. I should have known that Angelus wouldn't leave me alone for long. When the door opens, though, it's not him. In fact, I'm more shocked than anything by what I see. Drusilla. I know by the lack of familiarity I feel that it's not 'my' Dru. There's that same alien-ness I felt with Angelus, so I assume she's the one who belongs to the other universe. Of course, it makes sense that that Dru would be with her 'daddy'. If he never regained his soul in Sunnydale, then Dru certainly wouldn't leave him. I wonder for a moment what happened to the Spike of her world, but she's just standing there, staring at me, and I'm finding that worrying.

"What's up, Dru?" I ask, trying to keep my voice gentle.

"You're not really him, are you?"

"Not who, Pet?"

"My William. You're not my William. Daddy told me the nasty Slayer killed him, but the stars whispered that Daddy did it."

Well, that seems to answer my question.

"No, I'm not really your William. But I'm probably quite like him."

"No. You're different. You've got that nasty spark in you. It burns you up and makes you ash."

"Not so different. The spark didn't change me so much. Typical when you think how it affected him."

She giggles at that - a girlish sound that I used to love, and proves she understood what I said.

"Where is he?"

"He's out. He's busy. Lots of things to do. Taken the others with him. Left me all alone."

"But you're not alone, are you, Dru. I'm here. And if you unchain me, we could have some fun."

"Tsk, tsk. You're a bad boy, William. Daddy will be cross, and then there will be no cakes for tea."

Well, it was worth a try.

"We could still have some fun," she offers. "I know lots of good games."

"I know, Pet."

"Do you like the one where I make pretty marks on you with the water?"

"No, Pet. I never did like that one."

"Oh. My William didn't like that one either, but sometimes he let me play."

"He loved you."

"Daddy said he didn't. Daddy says we can't love anyone, and we shouldn't talk of such things, but I think we can love quite well."

"' Course we can, Pet."

She seems to shiver then, something between terror and cold.

"What is it, Pet?"

"We shouldn't have come here. I told Daddy, but he said I was just scared of the nasty Slayer because she killed my William. He used to listen to me, once. He used to listen when I told him what the stars were whispering, but not any more."

"He never did understand you like I did, did he?"

The smile she gives is more child-like than I can remember from Dru for a long time.

"I'm cold. Can I come and sit with you?"

"' Course you can, Pet." I pat the floor next to me, or at least, gesture towards it. She comes and settles beside me, curling her body around me like a cat. Her eyes, when I crane round to look, are open, staring straight ahead like the un-reanimated dead.

She stays like that, apparently unwilling to talk, and I continue with my efforts to loosen the chains from the wall. I don't know how much later, but I'd guess maybe an hour, I feel something. It's just a brush on my mind, the merest feather-touch, but just as I'm wondering whether or not I imagined it, Dru sits up, stiff and straight, chanting and crying in terror.

"She's coming. She's coming. She's going to get us."

"Who, Pet? Who's coming?"

She looks at me, blankly. I know the signs immediately. She's had one of her visions, one of the rare ones where she doesn't remember afterwards. She always knew things she shouldn't have, but the ones she had like this, they were always big. Whatever's coming, it's scary.

Dru gets up then, back to herself, and skips towards the door. "Daddy said I wasn't to talk to you while he was gone. He said if I was good, he'd let me play with you later. You won't tell him, will you? I want to have a tea party, and you can play too."

"I won't say a word, Dru. Off you go."

She smiles softly at me as she turns to go.

She's not my Dru in any number of ways. I don't know what he's done to her in the years since he turned her, in the time since my counterpart got dusted, but it's different. She's got the visions, and she definitely doesn't seem entirely sane, but it's more of a child-like insanity than I recognise. Then again, maybe she was putting it on for my benefit. Even at her worst, my Dru could play you if she wanted to.

Moments later, there's movement in the hallway, and by the sound of bellowing, it's obvious that Angelus is back and that something didn't go according to plan. He's yelling at someone - a minion probably - demanding something to drink. Shortly after that, he bursts into my room, a bottle of Irish whiskey in his hand.

"What is it with this benighted world? The vamps are a disgrace – I haven't found a single one worth using. Are you the same? So weak that you're not even worth the effort of a good spot of torture? The William I knew was an idiot, and he had a misplaced nobility that nauseated me, but made him such a pleasure to hurt. But you've got a soul too. Maybe that'll just make it feel like you deserve the pain."

I don't answer. I know from past experience of Angelus that he doesn't like having his rhetorical questions answered. Then again, he doesn't like to think he's being ignored either, so I'm probably buggered whichever way I go.

"So, the soul – how's that working out for you?"

I lift my head and hold his gaze.

"It's not so bad – not worth eating rats for."

He aims a kick at my ribs for that, and I hear a sickening crack.

"Haven't learned when to keep your mouth shut yet, have you?"

I'm not sure I could speak even if I wanted to – the effort of filling my lungs too much for the moment.

"Still don't care too much about your own pain, do you? It never did matter, though, did it? I hurt you, then I hurt her, and you get a ringside seat. For every time you say something you shouldn't, every time you do something I don't like, she'll pay. You get that? She's going to hurt either way, but if you make me angry, she's going to wish she was dead for a very long time."

He pauses then, letting the full impact of what he said sink in. My mind's a red haze – anger threatening to erupt uselessly and it's taking every ounce of control I can muster to stay still.

"So, William. This Slayer. She's got a reputation, you know? Mine did - most successful Slayer on record until I got her. She lasted a long time with me too. That was one tough bitch, and with the Slayer healing and all, she just kept bouncing back from everything. The one in this world, I heard she was just as tough but I'm not so sure. She didn't dust you for a start - that's not showing a lot of brains. Of course, it's obvious why she didn't. I was the first man to get between her legs, a human wouldn't compare. She settled for you in the end, so she must've been pretty desperate. You too, unless she's improved with practice. How's that feel, eh William? Have you ever had a woman I didn't get to first?"

Every muscle tense with the effort of keeping still, I say nothing. The result of that is a blow across my face that splits my lip and jolts my head against the wall so badly that I know I'm going to be feeling it for hours.

I pull myself back up to the least uncomfortable position I can manage, and he squats in front of me, his face threateningly close to mine.

"You forget I know you, William. You're angry. I can read you. And when you're angry, you lose control of whatever brains you have. What really hurts is thinking about what I'm going to do to her, isn't that right?"

He pauses then, watching me, but we both know he's right.

"So, here's a reminder for you. When I ask you a question, you answer it. Got it?"

I hold his gaze silently, and I'm rewarded by another blow. And then he laughs.

"You see, William? Two minutes, and I'm already under your skin. I know your weaknesses, and it's going to be fun exploiting them. And talking of which …" He raises his head and turns towards the door. "Dru, get in here."

She comes in obediently, coming directly to his side. He pulls her into his arms and kisses her roughly, his hands pulling her filmy skirt up to give him access to what's underneath. He then pulls away quickly, and looks at her.

"So, Dru. Did you visit our guest while I was gone?"

She does a little smile that gives away her guilt immediately.

"Ah, Drusilla. What am I going to do with you?"

"Does that mean we can't have our tea party?"

"I'm afraid so. Why can't you do as you're told?"

"I'm a bad girl."

"You are that. Go and tell the others to go and feed as soon as it's dark. Then stay in the other room. I've got some business with William here, but I'll be in later. It seems you need reminding to do as you're told too."

She sticks out her bottom lip in a perfect pout before getting up to leave the room, but there's fear there too – an uneasiness in her eyes that's far more honest than the pout.

"Now, Boy. Where were we?"

He pulls something out of the back pocket of his trousers. A flick knife. Something tells me things are about to take a turn for the worse.

"Ah yes. I remember. I was going to show you what happens when you don't show me the proper respect, wasn't I? And better yet, I get to show you some of the things I have planned for the Slayer – just so you can imagine them in advance. And then, when I'm finished, I'll let you listen while I remind Dru who's in charge."


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37 ** – **Glasgow 23 July 2004**

There's a stunned silence at my words, followed by a babble as everyone in the room tries to make sense of what I've just said. I get that sick feeling in my stomach because I just know that Spike's going to be hurt, but that's quickly replaced by a white hot fury. It takes Dawn's face moving directly into my line of vision to bring me back.

"Buffy? What is it? You said Angelus had Spike, but Angel's right here. Are you ok?"

I take a deep breath which comes out again shuddering as I try to regain control.

"I meant what I said. I don't know how or why, but the voice on the other end of that call belonged to Angelus. The call was from Spike's phone."

There's another crescendo of noise as everyone tries to speak at once, but this time it's Giles who interrupts.

"Buffy, Spike told us that Angelus wanted to buy you. That was the reason they made a special trip to take you. Perhaps, this Angelus has decided to take steps to ensure that he gets you anyway."

I take my eyes from Giles' face, and this time they land on Angel's. I'd know that look anywhere – it's a cross between guilt and disappointment that I'd think him capable of such a thing. It doesn't matter right now.

"You're right," I manage to say back to Giles. "He said he was looking forward to seeing me. It's a plan to get me to go to him. He's just not going to like the result when I do go. Right – where's Moira? Do you think she could do a location spell?"

"I'm sure she could, Buffy. But by doing such a thing, going after Spike, you'd be playing right into his hands. We need a different plan – something he won't be expecting."

"What we need, Giles, is to get Spike back and then to deliver some serious pain to this other-worldly Angelus – immediately before I stake him."

"Buffy, I really don't think that's wise. Let me call London and I'll get some other Slayers to fly up – they should be here by tomorrow at the latest. In the meantime, I'll get a location spell done and we can do some surveillance. Then we'll know what we're up against and have a better idea of how to proceed."

"Giles, you call as many other Slayers as you like – I'm the one who's going to dust Angelus. And we're not waiting for days – he's hurting Spike, and I won't leave him there for a second longer than I have to."

With that, I get up and walk out of the door. I hear the volume go up again – Giles calling me to come back and Dawn rounding on him for not caring enough about Spike. To be honest, I don't care. I'm going to find Moira, tell her what's happened and get her to find Spike for me. Then, I'm going to go and get him.

When I get downstairs, she's once again in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a large book propped up in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I had to pop out to get a turnip for the soup. I thought I had some but ..."

I glance at the title of the book, and it's got nothing to do with cooking.

"You know, don't you?"

"A side-effect of listening in upstairs. Sometimes, when I've got into someone's mind intentionally, it can ... call out to me involuntarily – especially when there's a strong emotion involved. I knew something was going on with Spike, so I made my way back here as quickly as I could."

"You mean you can reach him? Where is he?"

"No, it's not that simple. What I'm getting is like a single cry for help. It's not exactly coherent, and I doubt Spike knows where he is even if he could give me the information. It won't help us to find him, but a location spell will, so I was just checking out what I'll need."

"You'll help me then?"

"Of course I will."

"I thought maybe you'd side with Giles – tell me that I'm being foolhardy or some such thing."

"Would it make any difference if I did?"

"No, it wouldn't."

"And you'd get the location spell some other way anyway. And besides, you care very deeply about Spike."

"I do."

"Well, there's no more to be said. I know what I need, but I'm going to have to go to my supplier – I've got most of it, but a lot of it isn't as fresh as I'd like."

"I'll come with you."

"No, Buffy. I don't think you should. I'll tell you what, why don't I take the new arrival with me – Angel. I'm sure you'd prefer to have him out of the way while you prepare yourself, and I'd like to get to know him better – having heard so much about him. Anyway, being able to chat will stop me from thinking too much about poor Spike. Not that he doesn't deserve us to be thinking about him, but I need to keep my mind clear to perform the spell."

"But Angel doesn't have a car. How ..."

"And why would I need a car? It's just a short walk to the underground and then a few stops away."

"But Gus ..."

"Would drive me if I asked him, but it might get him into trouble with Rupert, so I'd rather not do it, especially when it won't actually speed things along at all."

"Are you sure?"

"I know, my dear, you're frantic. I do understand. Now, if you'd do me a favour and go up and ask Angel if he's willing to accompany an old lady, I'd be very grateful."

I stand up, but before going upstairs, I give her a hug. The contact is unbelievably welcome and I can feel a healing power coming from her. It's almost like being a small child again, when your mom really could make everything right with a hug.

* * *


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38 - Glasgow, 24 July 2004

I can only assume that Angelus is waiting until he's got an audience before he does any real damage to me. He hurt me, but it seemed as if he was trying to make it look worse than it was, and compared with what I've suffered at his hands before, it was mild. I just gritted my teeth and concentrated on thinking about Buffy. That was made easier by repeats of that same feather-touch on my mind that I noticed when Dru was with me. Whatever-it-is isn't something I can latch on to or anything, it's just ... comforting, and I can't explain why except to say that it shows I'm not alone.

Once Angelus left me and went to Dru, it got much harder. If his heart wasn't in hurting me, it was definitely involved in hurting her. Don't get me wrong, Dru always enjoyed pain, but her Sire was always able to adjust what he did to get the required effect and this time he's out to hurt her. I use the pent up anger in me to continue to try to ease out the cleats holding my chains in the wall, but if I'm making progress, I don't see it.

Much later, I hear the flat door slam and I know Angelus has gone out into the night to feed. A short while later, Dru comes in again.

"Go away, Dru. He'll only hurt you again."

"He hurts me whatever I do now. It's her fault – the Slayer. She changed him. But being with you was almost like having my Knight back again. It's only pretend, but sometimes pretend is all you've got."

She walks towards me as she speaks, her carriage as sinuous as ever, despite the open wounds I can see on her arms and around her neckline. She sits close to me.

"What happened to me in your world?"

After the absolute hopelessness of her last words, she's back to child-like curiosity.

"Well, after Angelus got his soul back, he went to Hell for a spell. I took you away from the Slayer and tried to make you happy, but something had changed. You found someone else, and I made my way back to the Hellmouth."

"You mean I was on my own? Without you or Daddy?"

"Never on your own, Pet - not unless you wanted to be. I think not being with Angelus made you stronger somehow."

She's thoughtful then – perhaps imagining a life without her Sire or her Childe.

"What happened to him, to Daddy?"

"Angel? He came over with a bad case of human."

"Human? How ...?"

"A reward, if you'd believe it. Souled Angel worked for the Powers that Be, and eventually they made him a real boy again."

"He wouldn't like that."

"Would you? Go back to being weak? Then again, I've been this way for so much longer, I can hardly remember how it felt to have a beating heart."

"I think it's just easier if I don't remember."

"You're probably right, Pet. The brain's got some good tricks, and sometimes helping you to forget is the best of them."

The front door slams again, and Angelus' voice is heard even above that. My heart sinks, as I'd thought I'd have longer than that, and Dru tenses, knowing that she'll be in for it now.

He comes into the room, yelling at minions behind him to get out of his sight, and it's only as he finally pushes the door shut behind him that I spot who he's got with him. My heart sinks even lower – it's Mrs. M.

"You filthy ...," I yell, trying desperately to get up and at him. The chains hold me, and I fall back down to the floor, helpless once again.

He's grinning at me. The bastard is grinning at me, enjoying my pain. To avoid looking at him, I take a second to look at Moira. To my amazement, she seems unharmed – in fact, there's a small smile on her lips. Then there's a whisper in my mind telling me to be quiet.

I take another look at Angelus and realise my mistake. It's not Angelus – it's Angel. Dru spots something at the same time, and she gets up warily.

"Dru, get out of here. I've got business with William." Angel's perfectly in character again, and Dru seems to be fooled. She runs out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"Never knew Dru to do as she's told that quickly," Angel comments, as Moira comes over to me.

"She's bloody terrified of him. Gave her a going over earlier because she came in to see me. She's probably thinking herself bloody lucky you just told her to scarper."

"You're hurt," Moira murmurs, taking a look at the various injuries she can see.

"Yeah, well, he didn't nab me for my scintillating conversation. Not too bad, though. I've had worse."

"I'll see if I can do something with these chains," she says, placing her hands on them.

Her heart rate, which was already faster than I'm used to hearing, increases, and now I'm worried.

"Moira, stop. You're doing too much."

She takes her hands off the chains and looks at me as if about to give me a good telling off.

"I know you don't like being told what to do, but believe me, I know human heart rates, and yours is going too fast. You need to take a rest or we're going to have to carry you home. Now, sit down and tell me the plan. Where's Buffy?"

Moira reluctantly joins me on the floor. She's breathing heavily, but seems otherwise ok for now.

"Angel, where's Buffy?" I demand since there's been no answer. "She's outside, right? Ready to come in when you give the signal."

"Er, no. Moira didn't want her here and decided that she could use a glamour to make me seem like a vamp. Thought we could just come in and get you out."

"You daft pillock. You should've known he'd have me chained up – or that there'd be someone here who'd spot something wrong. You might fool some minions, but I don't think Dru's going to be fooled for long. If she hadn't been so relieved that you weren't hitting her, I doubt she'd have left just now without some answers."

"Well, we're all you've got. Let me take a look at those chains."

I can't help it, I roll my eyes. The idea that he could get me out of this with only human strength when I've been putting vamp strength into it for hours is just ludicrous. He pulls at them experimentally, then pulls out a knife I recognise as mine, and tries to pick at the stone behind me. That effort ends when I hear the sound of the blade snapping in two.

"Hey, I liked that knife."

"It's not my fault it's broken," Angel mumbles. "I'll try another one."

"Don't you bloody dare. Now, bolt cutters - they'd be useful. Don't suppose you've got some hidden somewhere? Didn't think so."

"Spike, we couldn't exactly come in armed to the teeth, now could we?"

"You should've brought Buffy."

"Yes, well, it's too late for that now."

And then there's the sound of the front door again, followed by an agitated conversation. A second later, Angelus bursts into the room, and there's a momentary stand-off as Angel and he look at each other – each no doubt noticing the subtle differences in their appearance.

"Very clever," Angelus murmurs. "No heart beat. I assume that's your doing, witch?"

He turns towards Moira, who is gathering her power. She murmurs a single word, and Angelus is blasted to the opposite wall. The noise attracts the attention of the minions who, I suspect, were all just outside the door anyway, wondering how there came to be two of their master. I'm straining at my chains more than ever, knowing that my strength is the only thing that can save us now.

The minions move back rather than attacking, and a glance at Angelus confirms that's because of his order. He's climbing to his feet, a sneer on his face again.

"Very good, witch. But, I don't think you've got any more of that, have you? Another one of those and your heart'd probably stop for good. And all it did was postpone the inevitable for a few moments."

He walks towards her, easily avoiding my feet as I desperately try to make contact in any way I can. Angel's on him too, stake in hand, jumping onto his back in a vain attempt to stop him reaching Moira, but he's thrown off easily. Angelus picks Moira up by her clothing, forcing her to stand in front of him. She pulls herself to her fullest height and squares her shoulders. Typical of the woman – she's not cowed in the slightest, even though I know, and I'm sure Angelus knows, that she's got nothing left just now.

Angelus takes a look at me as I strain impotently at the chains, then an arm snakes out to the side to send Angel flying again as he attempts to attack. He hits his head hard on the wall as he lands, and seems dazed. Angelus' face changes, and he turns around to ensure that I get the best possible view.

"Now, I normally prefer my blood a little younger, but this isn't about food, this is about causing pain."

He lowers his fangs towards her neck, and I lunge again – this time, there's the sound of falling rubble, and I realise that I've finally freed myself. I lower my head and charge, aiming at his middle, hoping, as a first attempt, to just use my momentum to knock him over. After that, if Angel can only get Moira out of the way, it might be a fair fight, at least if we're left alone. And if that happens, then I know I can beat him.

As I'd hoped, once overbalanced, Angelus drops Moira, and Angel is with it enough to carry her to a corner, cradling her tiny form. I don't have time to notice whether or not she's ok, because as soon as he's on his feet, Angelus is roaring after me.

The chains that are still attached to my wrists are flailing, and while I'd like to use them on him, there's too much chance he'll get hold of one and use it to unbalance me. I concentrate on using my legs then for a bit, the pain from broken ribs and countless shallow cuts becoming insignificant as I do my best to hurt him.

In the midst of all this, I'm vaguely aware that the minions are no longer in the doorway and that Dru has come into the room. I can't stop to wonder why, as Angelus is coming at me again. He seems much less measured than the Angelus I knew – as if actual fury is dulling his reactions when it's actually doing the exact opposite for me.

And then, at last, I've got him where I want him. He's on the floor, on his back, and I'm on top of him, pinning him to the floor.

Angelus starts bellowing for his minions, but they don't come. Dru steps further into the room, so he yells at her to help, and I know that if I'm going to stop her, I need Angelus out of it. I quickly wind the chain dangling from my left wrist around my hand and use it to bludgeon Angelus about the head until he loses consciousness. I get up to counter Drusilla, but she's just watching, her eyes flicking between Angelus on the floor and Angel who's ministering to Moira.

"How is she?" I ask Angel, without taking my eyes off her.

"Alive. He didn't do more than graze her neck. She's unconscious, though – and her pulse is racing. We should get her to a hospital."

"Dru, where are the others?"

"Sleeping."

"You put them to sleep?"

"Miss Edith said they had been very naughty, so they had to be sent to bed before supper."

Her eyes leave me, straying back to Angel.

"Human?" she questions, as if, for the first time in her life she doesn't trust her own senses.

"Yeah. Takes some getting used to, doesn't it? So, Dru? Do you know where Angelus put my phone? Because right now, I'd really like to call for some help for Moira over there."

I don't really expect her to help, but it seems worth the chance. She skips off, returning a moment later with my phone. I gesture her to give it to Angel. She hands it to him and then turns to me, dangling a set of keys which she uses to release my wrists from the cuffs of my chains.

"Will he call the nasty Slayer?"

"Buffy? We'll call her later. The important thing is to get help for Moira."

"I knew she was coming. I saw her - all white and shining - in my dreams."

"Who, Buffy?"

"No, silly. The witch. I knew she had our destruction in her hands. I saw it. But you care about her."

"She's a good woman, Dru. But she's old, and she wore herself out trying to save me."

"I'm glad. I didn't want Daddy to destroy you again. Are you going to stake him?"

"Who? Angelus?"

She nods.

"I think we're going to want to ask him some questions."

"Will you stake me?"

This time her voice is tiny, a small child looking for reassurance.

"We can't let you go, Dru. Not in this world."

"If it has to happen, will you do it? Please? Don't let the nasty Slayer do it." I don't know what to say to that. I could stake her in a fair fight or if she threatened someone I care about, but to stake her in cold blood? I don't think I could. Fortunately, Angel interrupts to tell us that the ambulance is on its way.

Suddenly, there's a crash which is oddly reminiscent of Buffy's patented way of opening my crypt door back in Sunnydale. That's why I'm not surprised when she rushes into the room, followed by Gus, and I quickly move to get between her and Dru.

"Spike? Are you ok? What happened to Moira?"

I'm just about to explain, when there's a roar behind me, and I'm pulled backwards. My arms are pinned uselessly behind my back and there's a stake over my heart. It's Angelus - and he's out for blood. I obviously didn't hit his thick skull hard enough.

"Don't come any closer," he threatens. "Spike and I are going to leave. If anyone follows, I'll just push this stake in a little further."

He's already breaking the skin, edging the stake into my flesh. I daren't struggle at all, and Buffy's fury that she can't do anything either is plain on her face. Angelus pauses in front of Buffy. If I know him, he's savouring her suffering, or perhaps he's wondering how he can manage to make a switch and get her instead of me. For the first time, the sense of Moira's plan hits me. He wants Buffy, so that's the last thing he gets.

My attention is on Buffy, desperately trying to make her see that there's nothing she can do, and that's probably why I'm surprised when Angelus' arm - the one holding the stake - is pushed upwards, away from my heart. I use the momentary instability to move away from Angelus, taking up my position in front of Buffy.

I can hardly believe what I see. Dru did it. Dru turned on her Sire to save me. Not that it's going to do her any good, as he kicks her across the room before turning back to us. Buffy passes me a stake and moves to my side.

"So, Angelus. How do you feel about facing both of us?" Buffy's voice is a welcome sound.

"You two? Please. A Slayer who's well past her best and my grandchilde who couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. You know, I'm starting to think I did my Slayer a favour - you know, getting her out of circulation before she could get so flabby and old."

"Oh yeah? What about you? The only reason you like leather pants is because they expand to accommodate your ever-increasing butt."

Now sometimes, I could just stand there and listen to her, but now's not the time. Angelus is looking around, weighing up the situation. Dru gets up off the floor and walks towards him.

"Dru, go back out of the way. You've earned yourself a world of pain already, so don't make it worse for yourself."

"It doesn't matter, does it?" she asks.

Angelus doesn't look at her, his eyes remaining on Buffy and me.

"Dru, do as you're told."

"Or what?"

"I've already told you. Now go away."

"I think I will. I think I should walk out of the door and never come back."

"Dru, Dru. You know you wouldn't survive a day. You've always needed someone to look after you. William did it for a while, but when the Slayer got him it had to be me. And it hasn't been easy. The Senior Partners wanted me to get rid of you before I came here, but I wouldn't. You're family, and that's important."

"Spike was family too."

"Yes, and that's why I made the Slayer suffer for dusting him. Look, Dru, this isn't the time. Why don't you come here and help me? I'll leave the Slayer for you - give you a chance for some vengeance."

"I'd like that," she says, her voice soft and that smile on her face that I know so well.

She approaches to stand at her Sire's side. Ok, I admit it, I'm worried now. Between us, Angelus really wasn't a problem. Bringing Dru into the mix complicates things. She can do things to a human - make them see what she wants them to see - and that's more devastating than any purely physical strength. If she's fighting Buffy then I won't be able to concentrate on Angelus.

As if he knows the table is turned, Angelus rushes me, and I retaliate with everything I've got. I'm vaguely aware that Buffy and Dru are still watching one another, but I can't give that any attention. The last round of this fight was short enough that my previous injuries weren't too significant. I was able to ignore them, but as I tire, that's getting harder and harder. I'm slowing down and I know it.

There's a flash of dark hair between Angelus and me. Dru seems to be ignoring Buffy. She's come between us, and to my surprise, she's got a stake in her hand.

"Revenge, Daddy. It always tastes best cold."

Angelus freezes. "But Dru …"

It doesn't matter what he's going to say. The stake is aimed perfectly, not at his heart, but to the back of his neck. She pushes it in, and Angelus plunges to the floor in a heap.

I can hardly believe what I'm seeing. Angelus is lying immobile on the floor. I'd guess that she's managed to sever his spinal cord with her stake, and although he's alive, Angelus is completely helpless.

"Why, Dru?" he mumbles.

"You killed my William."

"No, Dru. It was the Slayer."

"Miss Edith told me the truth. She doesn't like it when naughty boys tell lies. You killed my William. He was good to me. He loved me and looked after me. He only hurt me when I wanted him to. He was the bravest knight in all the land and he wanted to take me away from you, but I said 'No,'. I said that family must stay together even though you hurt us. And then you killed him."

She starts to sob then, a pitiful sound, as she falls on his inert body.

Buffy and I stand mesmerised by the sight until a siren is heard from outside. Angel gets up, still carrying Moira, and takes her to the front door. Buffy and Gus follow him outside, leaving me to watch the strange tableau in front of me. Angelus is helpless, but in her way, so is Dru.

"I'll heal, Dru. It'll take time, but I'll heal, and then …" Angelus' voice manages to break through Dru's sobbing.

"You'll only heal if I let you," she says, quite clearly. "I know how long it takes to heal a broken spine. I looked after Spike for such a long time. Didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did, Pet. Did a good job too, when he'd let you." Well, I've got to say that. Being looked after by Dru is a singular experience that leaves you either wishing she'd leave you alone or craving attention when you've been ignored for weeks.

"So I can look after you just like I looked after Spike or the birds he used to bring me."

Angelus roars at the prospect.

"And if I think you're healing too quickly, I can always just do it again ..."

The expression in Angelus' eyes is one of absolute terror. You know, I'm really glad I didn't piss Dru off too much, because to spend forever being ministered to by her is probably more than I could take even though I once loved her. For Angelus, well, I'm not sure there's a worse fate.

"Much as I approve the sentiment, Pet, I think the Slayer's going to have something to say about leaving that wanker alive."

"No, she won't."

"But Dru …"

"We'll go back to our world. I know how to do that."

She dips under her the neck of her dress and pulls a phial similar to the one Angel brought to Glasgow.

"I got this when I found your phone. It will take us back to where we came from. Everything I need is there. I'll let him live for as long as I want him to. There are so many games I can play. And then I might try being alone for a while. Spike, who did I leave you for?"

"Chaos demon."

"Ooooh, yes. I always did want to find out if it's true what they say about them."

She must take my silence for agreement, since she takes the phial and throws it into the opposite corner of the room while muttering something under her breath. A portal spins out of thin air there, glowing and turbulent. Then, she stoops down and lifts Angelus over her shoulder. He cries out in what sounds like pain, although I don't see how it could be a physical pain.

"Goodbye, my Spike. Don't let the Slayer hurt you."

"Never again, Pet. And you - don't let him hurt you."

She giggles at that. "No, Spike. I won't," and then she's gone.

* * *


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39 – Glasgow, 24 July 2004

The paramedics seem surprised to have their patient carried out to them, but it's hard enough to explain what happened to Moira without having to explain that the paralysed man on the floor inside with a wooden stake through his spine doesn't need help too. Once she's settled inside the ambulance and they've done some checks on her, they give Moira a shot which brings her heart rate down pretty quickly.

"We're going to take her to the Southern General. Do you want to ride with her?" they ask, but I shake my head. "I need to get back and check on my sister, but I'll come over later."

Gus moves forward, his concern clear. "I'll go. Take my keys – you know where we parked, don't you?

"Thanks. Yes, I remember."

Seconds later, they're off, blue light flashing as they go.

I describe where we left Gus' car to Angel and he offers to go and bring it over.

I go back into the flat, without any clear idea of how to get Angelus and Dru somewhere safe, but all I see when I get back into the room is Spike slumped against a wall.

"Where are they?" I demand.

"Dru's taken him back to his own universe. Seems there's more to Dru than I ever knew – she's threatening to keep him like that – paralysed – until she gets bored with it."

"And you just let her?"

"I'm not sure I could have stopped her if I'd wanted to. And anyway, what were we going to do with him? She deserves it – a chance to get back at him. Our Angelus never treated her that badly."

I consider what he says, and then nod. Although the prospect of her keeping him paralysed so she can do whatever she wants with him initially makes me feel sick, the only difference from what I'd planned is that a stake figured in my plans a bit sooner. "He deserves it," I conclude.

"So, how's Moira?"

"The paramedic didn't say a lot, although they gave her a shot to bring down her heart rate. She's being taken to the ... Southern General? Gus went with her, and Angel's gone to bring Gus' car around. But how are you? He hurt you." I go to kneel beside him, desperate to find out for myself just how badly he's hurt.

"I think Angelus was working on spoiling my amazing good looks, but most of it's surface damage. I'll be fine."

"Can you walk out?"

"Course I can."

He gets to his feet with my help, and I take a stake from my back pocket and hand it to him. He seems baffled so I quickly explain.

"I walked past three snoozing vamps out in the hallway. I think we should finish them off before we go."

We check out each room in the flat, staking each of the five vamps we find, then make our way out to where Angel's looking completely out of place in Gus' very energy-efficient small car.

"Where are we?" Spike asks as he climbs into the front seat. While I'd like to have him in the back with me, I'm not going to ask him to squeeze in here past the front seats. Two-door cars aren't designed with injured people in mind.

"Gus said we're just south of the river," I offer. "There's a main road heading north two blocks over. He said once we're on that, you'd be able to direct me."

Once we're underway, Spike painfully turns to look at me.

"Much as I'd like to go and see Moira, I don't think I can risk it. Sun'll be up soon, and I don't know the layout of the hospital. There may not be much shade."

"And the chances of getting out without someone wanting to take your pulse are kind of low too. That's fine. We'll take you home and get you sorted out, then I can call a cab to take Dawn and me."

"So, how did you find me?"

"Sheer luck. I went into your apartment looking for weapons and found some notes on the table. There was a scribbled map showing where you were, and some other bits. I just can't believe Angel'd be so stupid as to try something like that without backup."

"Just a minute," he answers from the front. "I'm right here. And it's not sheer luck that you found those details. That woman's impossible. She told me what she had planned, and I told her straight-off that it was stupid. She just insisted that she'd do it without me – that she could conjure up enough of a likeness to me to have the same effect, although she admitted it'd be easier if she didn't have to do that. She left me in no doubt that if she thought I was involving Buffy then she'd go alone. I did what I could, leaving those notes on the table."

"This is it," Spike tells Angel as we reach a set of traffic lights. "Turn right here, and we're in the one-way system. This road'll take us north through the city centre and we can pick up a road back to my flat."

There isn't much conversation after that, beyond Spike giving Angel directions and tips on driving around Glasgow. The tips don't seem to go down too well, and after a while, I swat his shoulder as a gentle warning. He looks around and I mouth to him, "Stop that."

To my surprise, he does.

"I'll go up and tell Giles what happened," Angel offers while I help Spike to his front door. His expression shows his disapproval – probably of the fact that I'm helping Spike when he could probably walk without it. I don't care; I just need to touch him.

As soon as we're alone, I run my hands over him, instinctively checking that he's ok. He winces a couple of times, but that's all, so I reach up and kiss him.

"Stupid vampire," I tell him as I catch my breath. "You do that to me one more time and I'll ..."

He grins at that. "You'll what? Anyway, much as I'm enjoying this, I think I'd better sit down."

"Better still, let's get you to bed – it'll be easier to see what the damage is. Go on in and undress. I'll get the first-aid kit so I can patch you up."

He does as he's told. It takes a while to get him cleaned up and bind his ribs. Although the cuts are all shallow and well on their way to healing, there's a lot of dried blood around. And I admit it; I'm making the most of it, desperate to touch as much of him as I can just to reassure myself that he's really here.

As I get up to put away the kit, there's a loud knocking on the door. I answer it, and Dawn comes bounding in, throwing herself at Spike and almost breaking another few ribs.

"Be careful, Dawn," I shout from behind.

"Sorry," Dawn mumbles. "I didn't think ... Did he hurt you bad?"

"Not too bad, Bit. Broken ribs are the worst of it. So, did Angel tell you about his heroics?"

"Yeah. He's a real hero. If something happens to Moira, I'll ..."

"Bit, he did what he could. Moira ... well, she doesn't take telling. Haven't known her that long, but I know that much. Don't think Angel's ever come across her likes before. I hate to admit it, but he made the best of what he had."

"So, are we going to the hospital?" She turns towards me.

"Yeah. I'm just going to call the hospital first. You got somewhere I can check the number?"

"There's a phone book in the kitchen – on the shelf above the microwave. It's a couple of years out of date, but I doubt the hospital's moved."

It takes a few minutes to get someone to give me any information, and when it comes, it's just that 'Mrs. McConnechie is comfortable.' I ask about visiting, and I'm told that visiting hours today are between two and three this afternoon and seven and eight this evening. Looks like we've got a while to wait. I try ringing Gus' cell, but it's turned off. I hope he calls us soon.

"So, how's the research going upstairs?" Spike asks Dawn, as I go back into the bedroom.

"As if I could research! Giles's been busy but he was really put out that the rest of us were more worried about you. Well, except for Angel, 'cos he went off with Moira, although we didn't know she was planning on rescuing you. The Coven is working on some way of using Slayer blood to track the missing Slayers. They seem to think they'll come up with something."

"Good."

"What's the news on Moira?" Spike asks as I settle myself in the chair next to the bed. I'd rather sit on the bed, but that position is currently occupied by my sister.

"She's comfortable. There's no visiting until two this afternoon, and it sounds like they're quite strict about that."

"They tend to be. It's probably a good sign, though. If they were very worried about her, they'd probably be letting next of kin visit outside of visiting hours. What did Gus say?"

"His phone's off. I left a message."

"He might still be at the hospital. He'd have rung if there was something to say."

I nod. I hope so. It'll be so sad if something happens to her, and the last thing Spike needs is to beat himself up about Moira getting hurt while trying to help him.

As if on cue, the phone rings and I pick up to hear Gus' voice.

"She's fine, as far as I can tell. Already giving the nurses a hard time and complaining very loudly about the gown they've dressed her in. I'm on my way back. Can you look out some things for her? I promised I'd take them over right away even though I could tell the staff didn't want me back until visiting time."

"Yeah, I'll have a bag ready when you get here. She's really ok?"

"I think so. They want to keep her in for observation overnight, but apparently she's already on medication for her heart, so it's a known problem. They think it's just that she overtaxed herself today, although they think she just went for a very long walk."

"Good news. I'll see you soon."

I give the news to Spike and Dawn, and Dawn bounds up at the need for a bag to be packed for Moira.

"I'll do it," she offers. "I think I know where she keeps everything, and I can probably find what she'll need."

"Remember a wash-bag."

"Duh. I packed for Mom one time. I know the sort of things she'll want."

She's right, of course. Mom had her doing things like that for her - as much to keep her busy as anything. Anyway, it gives me a few more minutes alone with Spike.

Once she's gone, there's an almost awkward silence between us. I get the impression that there's something he wants to say but can't bring himself to start, so I launch into what's on my mind.

"So, tonight. Will it hurt you too much if I come in here?"

He sighs deeply with what sounds surprisingly like relief.

"Buffy, Love, there's nothing about you being with me tonight that could hurt me as much as you not being with me."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. As long as you still want to?"

"You bet I do. Even just to be with you. I feel like I need to touch you all the time."

"Never going to complain about that. There''ll be those who've got something to say about it."

"And it's no one's business but ours. I told Giles - before I got the call from Angelus - I told him we were going to try to be together and that he'd better accept it or at least keep out of it. I think he's going to try. And if he doesn't, then he's going to lose whatever respect I've still got for him."

"Buffy, I'm not worth …"

"Spike, stop. It doesn't really matter that it's you - he doesn't have the right to comment on who I choose to be with. He's been important in my life, but if he's going to continue to be around, then he's got to accept that I'm an adult. I think … he still feels responsible for me. Especially after what happened in Sunnydale - losing my home and everything - he feels responsible as my Watcher, but then, taking over the Council, I think he forgets that I'm not one of the kids who're still in their teens and green as they come."

"He's the sort who takes responsibility seriously."

"Yeah. Like someone else I know." I grin at him.

"Me? No way. Irresponsible, I am."

"Not when it matters, you're not. You might avoid taking on responsibility, but when you do, you're there whatever happens. Like with Dawn. And me."

"Can't help that, Pet. It's not anything more than selfishness. Don't want to live in a world that doesn't have you two in it."

I kiss him then, and his response is gentle but possessive. Out of the corner of my eye I spot Dawn coming back into the room, but she smiles at me and goes again, leaving us alone. If Spike noticed her, he didn't react at all.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40 - Glasgow, 25 July 2004

You know that way you feel when you've been given what you most wanted? That terror that it's going to be snatched away - leaving you more bereft than if you'd never had it? That's how I feel. I look at her, lying there, sleeping in my bed, peaceful and dishevelled, and I can hardly believe it.

It'll be time to wake her soon so we can go and get Moira, but I'm loath to, preferring to just be with her, looking at her, drinking in everything about her. Last night was better than I'd ever dreamed it could be. I think we were both afraid at first - not sure how to be with one another, both scared of coming on too strong or seeming cold or expecting more than the other was offering. But amazingly, it was the same physical attraction that ruined everything the last time that saved us this time. The chemistry between us has always been there, since long before Buffy admitted it, and if I'm honest, long before I admitted it to myself.

Later, we spent a long time talking - nothing earth-shattering, just the sort of small-talk that you get between people who already know one another well. Buffy's probably only had a couple of hours sleep since then, and that's another reason I don't want to wake her.

Checking the clock, I realise that we're out of time. Even allowing her a minimum time to shower and dress, it's going to be all we can do to get to the hospital by ten.

I lean over and plant a kiss on her cheek. She seems startled for an instant, then relaxes again, turning her face towards me. I take the opportunity and kiss her on the lips. The kiss is returned, and for a moment I forget about Moira, drowning again in everything that is Buffy. A crash from next door brings me back to the here and now. It's only Dawn being Dawn, but it's enough to remind me that we're on a timetable. Moira made it perfectly clear when we visited last night that we'd better not make her wait an instant longer than necessary this morning.

Buffy's pouting, her eyes opening slowly.

"Why did you stop?"

"No time, Pet. You need to get ready to go and get Moira."

The pout immediately disappears, and she jumps up to check the time. "We're going to be late!" she shouts as she jumps up, fumbling to pick up her clothes.

"Use my shower," I suggest. "I'll get you a towel."

I throw on some clothes while I listen to the sounds of water falling, my imagination going into overdrive as I picture her. It takes all my concentration to grab some blood and make her some toast. She won't have time to eat it before we leave, but she can take it with her.

She's still not ready when there's a knock at the door, which I immediately know is Dawn. I open it, and she glides in, a Cheshire Cat grin on her face.

"So, you ready?"

"I'm ready, but your sister's still dressing."

"Gus could take me, you know. You didn't need to …"

"Want to. Buffy too. Moira - she believed in me when I needed someone on my side. Least I can do is drive her home after what she did for me."

Buffy appears then, her hair still wet, but she's ready. I hand her the toast and a carton of orange juice. There's no time for coffee. She takes both and we walk out to the car.

There's no way I can get into the hospital with the girls - so I wait in the car in a short term parking bay close to the door. Need to be there anyway, since otherwise we might get back to find the car clamped.

Inevitably, it takes longer than it should, and I'm there for forty minutes and only just avoid a chat with a warden, when they appear. Moira looks furious, and I assume that's because she's been confined to a wheelchair for her exit. She pulls herself up from it with a snort of disgust as soon as the chair halts, and climbs in beside me. Buffy and Dawn climb in the back and a glance in my mirror shows me two remarkably similar smiles.

Moira must read my reaction.

"I don't know what you find so funny. A wheelchair indeed. There's nothing wrong with my legs."

"I know, Moira," Buffy replies gently. "But you heard what they said. You've got to take it easy for a few days. It's either that or you're likely to end up back in hospital."

"So what am I supposed to do? Sit with my feet up letting others look after me? That's not my way, never has been. And there's so much to do. I hope there's good news on the missing Slayers. Even if we get those girls back, some are bound to be traumatised by their experiences, so there's no time to lose."

And of course, she's right. Last night, it was almost possible to forget the other Slayers. A glance towards Buffy shows that the sudden pang of guilt I feel at having forgotten for a few hours is mirrored in her eyes. I squeeze her hand.

"We'll bring them home, Pet. Nothing's changed that."

The conversation then shifts to Moira interrogating us on what happened to Angelus and Dru. She'd been pestering everyone last night, but with the lack of privacy in the hospital, we hadn't got much beyond, 'Everything's under control'. When she's finally got the whole story, she sighs deeply. "Poor child. Drusilla was a remarkable young woman before Angelus got his hands on her by all accounts. Her family - descendants of one of her sisters - are represented in the coven. They've researched the family history quite extensively. Had she not been destroyed by Angelus, it is believed that Drusilla would have been an extremely powerful seer."

"She was," I agree. "I mean, she had her strange ways, but she knew things."

"But Angelus warped her gift like he warped so much else in his existence. It its way, his fate is just."

To my amazement, once we've got Moira home, it's Dawn who takes over, and odder still, Moira actually seems to accept Dawn bossing her around in a way I'd guarantee she wouldn't cope with from anyone else. Dawn bustles around, unpacking Moira's things and making her a 'proper' cup of tea.

"Always stewed in hospital," Moira complains as she closes here eyes at the first sip. "Don't know how they do it - even when it's just been infused, it's stewed."

"One of the mysteries of the universe," I agree. She glares at me, so I decide to keep quiet for a while.

Gus must have heard us coming in, or spotted my car, because he comes down a moment later. Moira greets him rather more gently than usual, as if impressed by his genuine concern. The greetings are short, though, before Moira starts to question him on progress.

"Well, the coven seems to be pretty sure that they can use Slayer blood to find the other Slayers, but the mechanics are still difficult. They're sending a representative soon - she's due to teleport shortly - and we're going to see if we can come up with a method. Giles has had blood samples delivered this morning too - from maybe thirty different Slayers in all. It should be enough."

"Good," Moira says. "I'll just finish this cup, and we'll go up and see what we can work out."

There's silence at that. Buffy, Gus and I look at one another, trying to work out which one of us is brave enough to tell her no. She spots our reaction, and looks at us sternly.

"There's no need for that. I can rest physically while using my brain. And sitting down here trying to eavesdrop or worrying because I don't know what's happening is bound to be worse."

"Yes, but the stairs …" Gus starts.

"Aren't a problem," I interrupt. "I'll carry her upstairs, get her comfortable in a chair, and bring her down again at the first sign of her heart doing anything different."

Moira seems about to argue, but Buffy and Gus are standing either side of me, and I'm pretty sure that Willow's 'resolve face' hasn't got anything on the three of us.

Gus goes back upstairs, and I leave the girls to finish their tea while I pop into my flat. There's a small armchair that's much more comfortable than the office chairs upstairs, and there's a box in the bedroom that'll serve as a footstool with a bit of padding. I take both upstairs, gaining a disapproving look from Giles. It's only when I explain their use that he reluctantly agrees to setting them up in a corner of the office from where Moira can feel a part of everything that happens. That does mean taking some unnecessary bits downstairs too - but there's room in my flat, and to be honest, there're too many filing cabinets up there anyway.

A while later, I carry Moira up to her chair, and while she's complaining all the way, I get the impression it's gentler than usual, as if she's also touched by the way everything in the room has been turned to give her pride of place. Once she's there, we have only to wait for a few minutes before Willow arrives. That's a surprise, since no one had let us know she'd be the representative of the coven, so there's a round of welcoming before she eventually takes her place. Giles allows that to continue for a short while before insisting that we all settle down to business.

"Willow, will you please summarise the progress that the coven has made?"

"Sure. We've basically solved the spells we need to look into many different worlds quickly. The Slayer blood is sort of like a compass needle, so we've got a way of looking. In computer terms, it's the interface we need. The crystals were ok for gaining access to a single universe - they were specifically tuned. What we need to do is much bigger, and we need to be able to process the reaction of the blood to any given universe. If we go ahead like that, it'll take a long time. What we need is some way of tuning a decision-maker to the blood so that we have the information instantly, and we can intelligently search for each Slayer."

"And you've got no ideas yet?" Giles is scowling.

"Actually, I didn't, and we were hoping someone here could come up with something, but then I got here and found someone I wasn't expecting."

She's looking at me, and of course, the answer's obvious. If I'm attuned to Slayer blood, I can be the focus, the intelligence behind the search.

"You plan to use Spike?" Giles seems surprised.

"Well, like I said, until I got here, I thought he was dust, and with Angel being human now, we'd run out of our supply of vamps who might be persuaded to help."

"If you need me, Red, I'm there."

"It could be risky," she cautions. "Let me go through the procedure before you decide for sure. We're going to have to get you to ingest a cocktail of Slayer blood. That part's easy. Harder, will be getting you to attune yourself to the things about the blood that make it Slayer blood. Think you can do that?"

"Can't help thinking I'm probably the best qualified vamp around in that respect."

"Wait, Spike. You've killed, what, two Slayers? That's not a big sample. Are you sure you can recognise what makes it different?" Buffy's looking worried.

"I've killed two Slayers, yes. But I know the blood of four Slayers. You think I haven't known every time you've had so much as a cut, Buffy? I might not have had a taste, but I'd recognise yours anywhere. And Faith - she got cut up a time or two back in old SunnyD. Know what that's like too. And I know normal human blood. More than I'd want to admit. Believe me, I'd recognise Slayer blood in an instant."

"Ok," Willow continues. "The next bit is a spot of astral projection and we'll start by putting you into a trance. I'll be your guide for that, directing the opening of worlds and the teleportation as it's needed, but you're going to have to direct me and for that, I'll have to be in your head. We'll probably start with a few at random to give you the idea, but I'll need you to start feeding me good information quite quickly or we're both going to be exhausted before we've done much. Even working at pretty much maximum efficiency, I doubt we'll be able to find more than two or three Slayers in a session. If we stay in a trance too long, there's a chance one of us - most likely you, Spike, will be lost - unable to return to your own body."

"Didn't figure it'd be a walk in the park. I'm still in."

I glance at Buffy. There's fear in her eyes, but she smiles her approval. She knows I've got to do this.

"When do we start?"

"I need some time to set up, and I'd like to have some quiet time to clear my mind, so maybe a couple of hours? Probably be a good idea if you don't have any blood other than Slayer from now."

"And if this doesn't work?" Giles is looking concerned.

"If this doesn't work, then we're back to trying to find a mechanism - an intelligent interface between me and the blood. Because I'm not about to try drinking it - apart from anything, the human digestive system'd destroy the Slayer essence in no time, and blood's liable to irritate my stomach to the extent that I'll end up bringing it right back up again."

"I see. And where will you do this?" Giles' voice is low and measured.

"Somewhere quiet. We need to be sure of not being disturbed. Other than that, Spike and I need to be physically comfortable. Nothing special, really."

"My flat, then," I answer. "Get away from this circus. You coming, Red?"

Willow nods, and gets to her feet. Buffy's at my side before I get to the door, and the three of us make our way downstairs, samples of blood shared among us.

"So? Where did you come from this time?" Willow asks as soon as we're out of the room.

"Buffy didn't tell you?"

"I haven't spoken to Buffy for … ages. I heard she was in Glasgow, but I assumed Giles brought her in to investigate the Slayer disappearances."

"Giles didn't bring me here at all. That was Moira - the lady in the corner. And as for where he was, well, he's been here all along. He survived the dragon, and Giles offered him a job here - mainly to keep him out of my way. Stupid vamp thought Angel'n me were going to be playing happy families now he's human."

"Oi. Less of the stupid. I made some mistakes. Thought we'd got over that."

"We have. That doesn't mean I've given up my rights to tease you about it."

"So you're what? Together?" Willow manages to make it sound like it's not a question.

"Yeah. We're giving it a go. It's still new, though."

"You ok with him doing this?"

"It's his choice. I can't say anything about him doing this and then go and face a vamp on patrol, now can I? Doesn't mean I'm not scared for him."

I grab her hand and squeeze it. She's right, of course. Business we're in, we both need to take risks. It's always going to be harder to be the one who watches than the one actually taking the risk.

"How risky is it?" she asks.

"Honestly? I don't know. I'll have a better idea once we've done a run. It's down to Spike's ability to focus, not only on the search, but on retaining his sense of 'self'. Some people find it easy, others? Not so much. I'll keep a close rein on him at first. That'll slow progress, but I'll let him go a bit if I think he's coping."

I show Willow the living room, and she pronounces it acceptable. We leave her to set up, moving towards the bedroom without discussion. Once the doors close, Buffy puts her arms around me and squeezes hard.

"Ow!"

She remembers the ribs and loosens her grip. "Sorry."

"I'll be fine."

"You better be. I'll be here anyway. If you need something to bring you back, just remember me."

"I'll always come back to you."

"I hope so."

"Just one thing," I say as she comes closer for a kiss.

"What's that?"

"I'd better go and bring Moira back down. If I'm going to be tied up down here, I'd rather she was back in her own flat with Dawn fussing over her."

She sighs but nods.

"Two minutes – that's how long you've got. Then I want you back here. Ok?"

I smile at the fake petulance while wondering if I can do it in less.

* * *


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41 - Glasgow, 25 July 2004

The two hours before Willow was ready to start passed too quickly, and not nearly enough was quality time with Spike. Far too much of it was spent fending off everyone who wanted to sit around and watch. It took Willow's bald statement that the fewer people there were in the room, the better the chance of success, before Giles finally gave up. I don't know what he thought he was going to do, but I think he just needs to be doing something.

He's changed since he got here - well, maybe even before then, but I haven't seen that much of him lately. He's been acting off, though. He's never liked Spike, and I know he doesn't want me to be with a vamp, but the things he did to keep Spike from me were … over the top. And since he got to Glasgow, I mean, he's faced apocalypses before, but this time, he looks so tired. I think maybe taking on the whole Council has been too much - or then again, maybe it's not the Council, but the loss of the Slayers. I know he was devastated when I died, and I kind of assumed that was because we … because it was me. Now? Well, yeah, he cared … cares about me. But he also feels responsible for all the other Slayers, and with them being taken from under his nose, he's taking it personally. I suppose it's the one thing Quentin Travers had going for him - he never seemed to personally care for any of us. Must've made the job much easier. But now, I'm scared for Giles. For the first time since I got over the teenage 'oh, he's so old' phase, he really does look old.

When we're ready to start, Gus, Angel and Giles are upstairs and Moira and Dawn next door. Angel and Gus are primed to come down as soon as I call Gus' cell phone, and I'm going to do that if we're successful and get a Slayer or two in Spike's living room. They've got a couple of cars at their disposal, and Giles has arranged for some rooms at his hotel to be available for any girls well enough not to need medical treatment. He's also used the Council's clout to arrange for any girls who need to be hospitalised to go direct to a private hospital just outside the city. He insisted on a private hospital because he thinks privacy will be easier. Gus didn't seem too impressed by that, but he didn't get the chance to explain.

Willow's moved things around in Spike's living room. There are two chairs, close together and facing one another. The sofa's been pulled over to the wall out of the way. Willow hands Spike a mug of blood, and Spike sniffs it cautiously. "Wait, I haven't given a sample," I warn, but Willow stops me.

"No, Buffy. If your blood's in the mix, its signal might overpower all the others, pulling Spike back to this universe when we want him checking out others."

I think I'm disappointed. I gave my blood willingly to Angel when he needed it, and I don't want Spike to feel that he's less important to me than Angel was - because that's just not true.

"S'ok, Pet. You keep it. The witch's right. Don't want me getting side tracked." His relaxed acceptance makes me feel better.

He drinks the blood quickly, and I don't know if it's my imagination or not, but it almost looks as though his face takes on a rosier tint than I'm used to seeing.

"When you're ready, sit over there," Willow commands. "I'll give you instructions direct - less chance of misunderstandings that way."

Spike nods towards her, then looks my way. My concern must be showing because he comes towards me and pulls me into his arms. "You ok?"

"Just worried about you."

"I'll be fine. You'll see."

"Good. Don't take any risks."

"What? Me?" he demands, in fake innocence, and I laugh despite myself. Asking Spike not to take risks is like him telling me to stop being a Slayer - not going to happen.

He walks towards his chair and settles into it, while Willow sits opposite him.

"Ready?" she asks Spike.

"As I'll ever be," he answers.

"Close your eyes. It'll be easier if we minimise external stimuli."

He does as he's told, and a few moments later, I know that, despite what my eyes are telling me, I'm alone in the room.

Seeing Spike like that - so … dead - makes me want to go and shake him, bring him back, but of course, I don't. Instead, I wander around the room, taking a closer look at the life Spike's built here.

That takes all of two minutes. Given the amount of stuff he had in his crypt, this flat's actually quite bare - a few books, some CDs, a TV - the furniture I know came with the flat. I don't know whether that's sad, or just a sign that he's been too busy with his new life and friends to worry about material things. The second option causes a twinge of jealousy. The one thing I never really had to worry about before was Spike having friends. I was the one with friends and a life of my own. I push the feeling down. It's what he needed. I'm beginning to really understand why he didn't call me when he got back the first time. I mean, after he wasn't a ghost. By that time, he'd started to be part of the group in LA – well, by the sound of it, Fred at least was starting to accept him (and isn't it typical it'd be the woman in the mix?). If he saw the chance to do good for himself rather than as the Slayer's pet vampire, then that had to be the right choice for him. And if he hadn't, then maybe he wouldn't be ready to move forward with me now.

I give myself a mental nudge. There's no point in revisiting the past and trying to work out all the 'what if's. Because, different universes apart, now is what we've got, and once we've got the other Slayers back, there isn't much about my 'now' that I'd want to change.

In an effort to take my mind off things, I consider going through to see how Moira's doing, but I've no real idea how long it's going to take before Spike finds one of the Slayers. Willow warned that it could take hours to find even one, but she was hopeful that it would be faster than that. I'd hate to think that one of them turned up here, confused and maybe hurt, and the welcoming committee consists of just a snoozing witch and vampire. So I'm stuck. And so, inevitably, my thoughts turn to last night.

It was special in ways I never expected it to be. I mean, I've slept with Spike before. Literally and figuratively. I've slept in his arms with (almost) no thoughts of anything else, and we've had sex, although those times often didn't involve sleep, and rarely involved a bed. Last night was like a first time, without the awkwardness of first times. He always tried to make me feel like I was the only woman in the world, but this time, I let him show me. I missed out on so much before by shutting him out the way I did.

Remembering last night, I also remember how little sleep I got. By the time I finally drifted off in his arms, it was well after dawn, and with having to be up to collect Moira, well, … I go and sit on the sofa, then kick off my shoes and pull my legs up onto the cushion. I lean my head back, and my eyes seem determined to close, so I stop fighting it.

I waken again, with a start. I look around the room, but nothing's changed. But then, while I'm watching, someone appears. I vaguely recognise her from some photos Giles had of the missing Slayers, although I never met her. She's a tall, blonde girl, and I immediately approach, wary in case she attacks, but she seems dazed.

"You're safe," I tell her. "I'm Buffy. I'm a Slayer too, and you're home."

She shakes her head as if trying to clear it. She's on edge, watching me, waiting to see if I'm a threat. She seems to decide that I'm not, and her body relaxes noticeably.

"Home?"

She's looking around the room, taking in everything around her.

"Where're you from?" I ask.

"If I'm home, why don't you know that?"

"I mean you're back in your world. You're in Glasgow, in Scotland. Home's the US, isn't it?"

"Yeah. New Jersey. You're a long way from home too."

"Long story. Are you hurt?"

"Hurt? No. There wasn't much time. I mean, one minute I was patrolling a cemetery, the next I was in this cage, wondering what on earth happened. It's only been a couple of hours, and the next thing I know, I'm here, and I really wish I understood what had happened. And what're they doing?"

She points at Willow and Spike, and reaches into her pocket for a stake. I spot the instant when she realises that one of them is a vamp, her body coiling to attack again.

"He's responsible for bringing you back."

"The vamp?"

"Yeah."

"What's he doing?"

"Another long story. Look, let me get someone to look after you. Rupert Giles will want to talk to you, but that can wait if you're not up to it."

I take my phone out of my pocket and speed dial Gus. He arrives seconds later.

Her name, it soon transpires, is Glenna Mitchell. She seems more curious than harmed, and soon goes up to the office to meet with Giles and get the full story of what happened to her.

Once she's gone, I check the time, surprised to find that it's taken two hours so far. I settle back onto the sofa to wait for the next, and feel the first flutterings of excitement that the plan seems to be working. The fact that Glenna's ok and seems, from her perspective, to have only been gone a few hours, gives me hope that the others will be the same.

* * *


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42 Glasgow, 25 July 2004

I take the mug from Willow, determined that this is business - but the pleasure of drinking Slayer blood hits anyway. It's like the best drug a human could have, but there're no unpleasant side effects, no 'morning after', just a euphoria that seems to have the whole world glowing.

I glance at Buffy, and she's looking at me, as if she's measuring my reaction to the blood. The feeling I have is purely physiological; I can't control it, but I still feel guilty for enjoying even part of this process. I approach her and take her in my arms. She welcomes me, and I relax a bit. Maybe she hasn't spotted it.

"When you're ready, sit over there," Willow commands. "I'll give you instructions direct - less chance of misunderstandings that way."

I take my seat, and Willow asks me to close my eyes. I do so, and after that, anything I hear isn't coming via my ears. She starts to talk quietly and insistently, but soon, I'm not hearing the individual words, just the cadence, the rise and fall of her tone.

I'm in a waiting room. At least, that's how it seems. There's a train pulling in outside, and I glance around to find Willow smiling at me.

"Thought this might be easier. Make it seem familiar."

"Didn't know you were so familiar with old-fashioned British trains."

"I'm not. I just suggested the basics; your imagination's doing the rest."

There's someone out there yelling 'All Aboard,' and Willow's moving out to the train. I follow, bemused to note that it's a steam train, but that the light in the waiting room was modern fluorescent tubes. I suppose my imagination's not exactly consistent.

We sit opposite one another, in relative positions similar to our actual positions.

"You'll see us going through stations. If you get the sense that there's a Slayer close, tell me to stop. Once you've got the idea, you can direct us too. When you sense something, home in on what you've found and then leave the rest to me."

The train starts to move, slowly at first but accelerating. I get the impression of stations - lighted flashes in the darkness - rushing past impossibly fast.

"Concentrate!" Willow reminds me.

And I do. At first, I'm not sure what I'm looking for. I know what the Slayer blood feels like, but I'm not sure how the presence of a Slayer's going to link to that. Well, until it does. It hits me like one of Buffy's punches, and because it comes right out of the blue, I'm temporarily stunned.

"That's it!" I mentally yell at Willow.

The train seems to slow, and we pull into a station, but the feeling's gone.

"Ok, maybe we overshot - let's go back a bit."

She does, but this time the impression is of a train dawdling along the track, and I'm desperately trying to get that signal again.

It seems to take forever, but at last I recognise it again, and I can direct Willow to the source. We sit in a station, and she's got me mentally searching a whole world for the source of the recognition. When I've spotted it, Willow somehow manages to follow my thoughts, and an instant later, the signal's gone and Willow's grinning at me.

"It's gone. I've lost it."

"No, silly. I sent her home. You did it. So, ready to look for the next one?"

And with that, the train starts to move.

I'm more relieved than I can believe. I went into this determined to do what I could, but I wasn't convinced that the plan was going to work. Still, we've got a long way to go, so I bend my senses to searching again, trying to be methodical, testing to see just how far I can stretch my probing, expanding the area until I know I'm no longer searching effectively, so I pull back.

The next signal I get is different. The first one was clear and strong, but this one is fractured, feeble. Tracing its source is harder too, and I feel my ability to concentrate weakening as I desperately try to follow a thread that's faint and almost gone at times.

I don't know how long it takes. More than once I'm convinced that I've lost it altogether, but at last, it's getting steadier. We follow the thread, but it never gets as clear as the last one. When the train stops this time, Willow helps me to follow the signal to its source. It disappears like the last one, but Willow's looking less triumphant than last time.

"She was hurt, wasn't she? At the end, I could feel her pain, her despair."

"Yeah. She was. But she's safe now. She'll be fine." Willow sounds like she's forcing herself to be upbeat.

"If she isn't …"

"Don't dwell on it now. Your part in her rescue is over, and there are others who need your help."

And I know she's right. I try to focus on searching, trying to guide Willow towards another of our Slayers. There are some that are almost right, but not quite - there's a subtle difference that I know makes it 'wrong', but I can't explain it better.

I try to concentrate harder, desperate to find the other girls as soon as I can, but I don't seem to be able to. I'm flitting around, following a hint of a signal that disappears as quickly as it started. Willow's trying to tell me something, but I block her out. There's another hint, off in a different direction, so I push our efforts that way, but again, just as I think I find it, it's gone, and Willow's pestering me. Another signal. I shake off Willow's interference once more, a note of my frustration going with it. Another change of direction, and I won't say anything about the oddity of a train that keeps changing direction, and yet again, the signal disappears almost immediately. And just as immediately, Willow's back, and this time, try as I might, she won't be blocked out.

"What the hell is it? I thought we were in a hurry here. You're getting in my way."

"Spike, you're exhausted. You're randomly changing direction, and we're getting nowhere. We've got to go back, get some rest and try again later."

"No. We can't. The girls are waiting for us. We've got to …"

"Spike. Back now. I don't want to force it, I might hurt you. Just believe me. We need to take a break and try again later."

"But …"

"But nothing. If you carry on here, you'll get lost, and then there'll be no way of rescuing the others."

I take a second to think about what she's saying, and I know I'm exhausted. She's right.

"Ok. We go back."

She smiles from her seat opposite me, and the train judders as it changes direction again, pulling us back home.

I feel my body lurch, and realise that I'm back in it. It's funny, I didn't notice the lack of physical sensation when I didn't have it, but now it's back, it's almost unbelievably different.

And with the return of physical sensation comes an overwhelming sense of failure.

"Spike?"

I open my eyes to find Buffy kneeling beside me.

"Where is she?" Now I'm back, there's only one priority.

"Which? The last one?"

I nod.

"On her way to hospital. Gus and Angel are taking her. Looks like she came off worse in a fight with something with claws and maybe some poison too. But she should be ok - I mean, with Slayer healing and a bit of time. And Giles is flying up the Council's expert on demon injuries."

I let out a shuddering breath. "You sure? She should be ok?"

"Yeah, I think so. They'll call when they hear."

She turns towards Willow.

"So, how did it go?"

"Good."

I can't believe she said that. "Good? How can you say that? There're more …"

"Spike. I said it would take several sessions. You actually did better than I expected this time - you picked up the first Slayer quickly, and the second one - well, she was difficult because you picked up on her pain and fear. You need to rest."

"I'll rest when the girls are all home. We need …"

"Ok. I need to rest, and I've done this before. Buffy, take him and persuade him to sleep. We can have another go in a few hours, but only if he rests first."

I get up from my chair, ready to try to talk Willow out of this waiting nonsense, but my knees buckle.

"Come on, Spike," Buffy says, taking my arm.

"What?" I'm confused. How can I be this tired from just sitting in a chair? I look at Willow.

"Astral projection is exhausting anyway, but this is personal for you; I could feel that. You're too involved, really, and if there was anyone else who could do this … But there isn't. Go and sleep. When you're ready, we'll go again."

Buffy's pulling me towards the door, and I stop fighting it. To be honest, at this moment, the effort of staying on my feet is greater than I'd have believed possible.

* * *


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43 **- 25 July 2004 

Once he's recovered from his stumble, Spike won't let me help him, even pushing me away. I swallow my irritation, and follow him into the bedroom. Any thoughts about him looking rosier than usual are gone - he's pale - his skin looking grey rather than its usual white.

He seems surprised that I followed him, swallowing hard when he turns around to me.

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I …"

"What's to be sorry for? You found two of them. That's better than anyone else's done, and as much as Willow expected for your first time."

"I'm sorry I had to stop. Useless pillock that I am."

I take both his hands in mine.

"A long way from useless. Lie down and get some rest."

He nods, getting onto the bed. He looks so lost like that, that I climb on beside him, holding him in my arms. Within moments, he's asleep, his exhaustion overcoming his misplaced guilt.

When I'm sure he's really asleep, I get up carefully and go upstairs to find out what's happening with the two we've brought back. Giles is with Glenna, who has freshly washed hair and a t-shirt I recognise as belonging to Dawn.

"Hey. Feeling better?"

"A bit freaked. I mean, you become a Slayer, get all these powers, find out that there're vampires and monsters, you don't think there's anything else could happen to out-weird your life. Then … "

"I know what you mean."

"Sounds like I've been lucky. I've been missing for weeks, but for me it's only hours. That other girl wasn't so lucky."

"No. Any word on her?"

Giles answers. "Gus is on his way back - he's left Angel at the hospital for now. They've stabilised her condition, but they're still trying to identify the poison in her wounds. It looks like whatever caused her condition happened at least a couple of weeks ago. Her Slayer healing, even her normal human healing, seems to have been subverted by the poison. I've got a team in London researching the possibilities, and the Council's foremost expert on the treatment of demon-induced injuries is on a plane as we speak. Beyond that, I'm at a loss."

Those last words are delivered in a voice I hardly recognise as Giles'. If I thought Spike sounded defeated before he slept, that's nothing to how Giles sounds. I take another look at his face once he's finished rubbing his eyes. His eyes are red-rimmed, and the bags under his eyes look like they've been over-packed.

"Giles, when did you last sleep?"

"I … er … got a couple of hours, er …"

"When, Giles?"

"What day is it?"

I have to think about that. "Sunday?"

"Sunday? No, no."

"When did you last sleep?"

"I, er think it was … Friday."

"Giles, go and get some sleep."

"Don't be ridiculous. Now is not the time."

"What, exactly, are you doing, Giles? Everything's set up. We're doing what we can, and you've got everything arranged. Go and get some sleep. We'll call you if something comes up."

"But …"

"I'll take him," Gus offers from the doorway where he's obviously heard the exchange.

"But you're needed here."

"Not while Spike's resting," I remind Giles.

"And how long is that going to be? He's got no business resting when …"

"That's exactly what he said, just before he almost fell over with exhaustion. Now, go, Giles. You've been living on too little sleep for weeks."

His shoulders slump, and he gets to his feet.

"Be back soon," Gus offers over his shoulder as he leaves the office.

"So," I say to Glenna since I don't really know what else to say.

"He's pretty intense, isn't he?"

"Giles? Yeah. I suppose. He's always been a bit like that, but lately, …"

"It's like he really cares, you know?"

"He does. Maybe too much. So, you hungry?"

"Yeah. I was starting to think people don't eat in England."

"Ah, friendly warning. You're not in England, and saying that? Doesn't go down well with the natives. I'm sure we can get you something to eat downstairs, and Moira's going to want to meet you."

After a quick mini-Geography lesson on the way downstairs, I introduce Glenna to Moira and Dawn. Moira immediately wants to get up and start cooking, and it takes both Dawn and me to persuade her to sit still and give Dawn instructions. When I'm sure everything's under control, I go back to Spike's. Willow's curled up on the sofa sleeping, and when I check out Spike's room, he's still sleeping, but his face seems to have lost some of its extreme pallor. I creep back over to Moira's chased by the sound of my own stomach which seems determined to waken both of them.

There's a pile of sandwiches on the table, and Glenna and Dawn are eating while Moira nibbles at one. There's a pot of tea on the table, and I pour myself a cup before taking a sandwich.

"Tinned salmon," Dawn announces as I peer inside.

"I always keep a tin or two in the cupboard in case of unexpected company," Moira informs me. "There's some mince in the fridge, and I'll cook that later."

"I think Giles has booked me a hotel," Glenna says. "I should go there and eat. And call my family again. I gave them a quick call a while ago, but they'll want to hear more. They've been so worried."

"Use the phone here," Moira tells her. "As for the hotel, unless you want to go there, I'd suggest you stay here at least until you won't be alone there. There's nothing worse than being alone in a strange place."

Glenna looks relieved. Dawn shows her where the phone is, then comes back into the kitchen.

I take a bit of my sandwich. It's good. In no time, the pile has gone down considerably, and I'm feeling ok to go back to see how Willow's doing.

"Can I take some next door for Willow?" I ask. "I don't think Spike's got much in the actual food line in there, although there seem to be a lot of potato chips. And tell me, what flavour is Marmite?"

"Marmite?" Dawn parrots.

"That's the flavour of the chips. I wasn't sure whether Willow would like them."

"Try them," Moira suggests. "If you've never heard of Marmite, then it's hard to explain."

I take the sandwiches through to find that Willow's up and preparing another Slayer cocktail for Spike.

"Are you going to have enough blood?"

"I think Giles was going to get some more sent up. The first lot'll give us another three or four goes, though. What'cha got there?"

"Sandwiches from Moira. Thought you might be hungry."

I open the cupboard where I spotted the chips and pull out the bright yellow bag. There's only a couple of small bags inside, and I take one.

"You like Marmite?" I ask.

"Yeuch, no." Willow shudders.

"You've tried these before?"

"No - not the crisps. Tara got some once. It's a British thing, but it's supposed to be real high in B vitamins, so she wanted to try it. She liked it, but I didn't. It's powerful stuff."

It's almost like a challenge now. I open the bag and take out a chip. I take a small bite, chewing it around my mouth. Apart from saltiness, I don't get a lot. I put the rest of the chip onto my tongue and after a moment, I chew it.

"It's not bad," I decide. "Not like anything else I can think of. What's it made from?"

"It's a by-product of the brewing industry." Spike's voice behind me takes me by surprise.

I turn around quickly.

"You're looking better."

"Feeling it too. Hungry though."

"Have some regular blood for now," Willow advises. "The Slayer blood's not enough to be your main nourishment - you can have that when we're ready to start."

"How're the girls we brought back?" He looks to me for information.

"Glenna, the first one, is sitting with Dawn and Moira and looking fine. The other one, I didn't catch her name, is in hospital. Looks like she was attacked by something with poisoned claws or talons. The poison's knocked out her healing ability."

"Natural or magic?" Willow asks.

"Not sure. Gus should be back from taking Giles to his hotel soon. He was there, and Angel's still at the hospital. Why?"

"If it's magical, I've got an idea that might help. It's no biggy, just a poultice that Tara used sometimes - it's supposed to cancel out any magical energy that's doing harm. It's real gentle, but it might help. I'll go see Moira. Maybe she's got what I need - it's all pretty basic stuff."

"How soon can we go again?" Spike asks.

"Half an hour? Maybe a bit longer if I can make up this poultice. If you're sure you're ready."

"The longer we leave it, the worse it is for the girls."

"If you're sure."

Willow takes her sandwiches and goes next door, leaving me munching potato chips while Spike warms some blood. When it's done, he takes it out of the microwave and moves over to stand close to me. He puts his hand into the bag of chips, takes one, and dips it into the blood.

"Can I just say 'gross'?"

"I only started using Burba weed because it's so hard to get Marmite in the States. Well, that and not having to pay for Burba weed. Gives the blood a bit of bite."

I decide to ignore that. "You sure you're feeling better? You haven't slept for long."

"I'm fine, Pet. It was just that last one - her being so injured. Took it out of me. How's she doing really?"

"They've stabilised her, but if Willow can neutralise the poison, I think she'll be ok. If not, Giles has some expert on his way from London, and he's got everyone he can spare researching it."

"And the first one - she really ok?"

"A bit wigged, but more by our story than what actually happened to her. She'd probably like to meet you, you know, when you're not off exploring the cosmos."

"Maybe later, Pet. I'll feel more like socialising when they're all home."

* * *


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44 -27 July 2004

The past couple of days have had a routine of their own. Spend a couple of hours searching for Slayers, then rest for a few hours and start again; the little facts of daylight or night have been irrelevant. We've found all but three, but so far, Gus' Fiona isn't among them. Half have been hospitalised, but with Slayer healing, they're all doing well. Their stories range from languishing in a cage to being forced to fight in some sort of weird demon circus. One - the second one I found - was even a bodyguard to a prince in the world she was in. She, Delia, got her injuries protecting him from a monster, but they had no idea how to heal her. We're doing a bit better - they eventually found an antidote to the poison, and her healing has kicked in. One girl died just after we got her back. That one hit me hard, and I'm still trying not to dwell on it. Since then, we've brought back another eight, but it's still there, in the back of my mind, that if I'd been quicker, … I didn't want to stop last time. I knew there were just three more, and I wasn't feeling too bad, so I was annoyed when Willow insisted we stop. Still, I've had a few hours sleep and I'm raring to go. Willow's being slow, insisting I haven't rested for long enough.

"I'm ready, Willow. And if we go now, maybe we can finish this - get them all back again."

"Maybe," she agrees. "What do you think, Buffy?"

She looks worried, and while it's great that she cares enough to worry, I'm getting tired of being told to rest for longer. She looks at me for a moment before answering.

"It's Spike's call. He knows how he's feeling."

I can see it cost her to say that. She's been used to making decisions for everyone for too long to be able to give up that power easily, and yet she's giving me the chance to make my own decision. I put my arms around her and kiss her hard.

"This is it, Pet. I know it. Last time. Once all the Slayers are back, we can have some time to ourselves - maybe get away for a few days. "

"That sounds good. Then again, actually spending a whole night in bed sounds good. I must be getting soft."

"You, Love? Never."

I stare at her. I don't think that'd ever get boring, just watching her. I'm interrupted by a cough.

"Spike, if you're going to do this, we might as well get on with it." Willow hands me a mug of Slayer blood. Having had so much of that lately, I'm at least able to minimise my reaction to it. Whatever euphoria's left, I swallow down as I take my seat opposite Willow. I close my eyes, and almost immediately, I'm back in the waiting room and the train's pulling to a stop on the platform outside.

The routine is familiar by now, and no instructions are needed. Instead, we move quickly out into the void that separates all the universes. I feel a little like Captain Kirk speeding through the cosmos at warp 9, except all the specks of light are actually different dimensions. Well, and Kirk didn't sit in a train carriage.

I find the first Slayer quickly. The signal is strong, although as we get closer to her, I sense fear. Moments later, I lose her, but a glance at Willow's smiling face confirms that she's safe.

I continue the search, but I'm not getting anything. I increase the range that I'm sensing, stretching it, taking in as many possibilities as I can, but there's nothing. I consciously try to relax. There're only two girls left and an infinite number of worlds where they might be. I'm trying too hard, and I'm tense.

"You ok?" Willow asks.

"Yeah. I'll try again in a minute."

"If you're tired, we can go back."

"After just one? Not on your life. I'm fine, just trying too hard."

"Ok," she agrees. "Take it easy."

Once I've consciously relaxed as much as I can, I extend my senses again. And again, there's nothing obvious, so I steer us in another direction.

It's been a while. Willow's getting agitated, but I'm ignoring her. I'm fighting the panic that's rising, telling me that I'm not going to find anything, but at last, there it is. Another faint one - I hate that. Faint signals mean the girl's in a bad way. Still, with the practice I've had of late, following it is easy enough, and I'm trying hard not to feel her pain. A moment later, and it's gone.

I feel cold. Odd, given that I'm a) a vampire and b) not even in my own body just now. Willow's looking at me, and I mentally stretch my body, trying to shake off the feeling.

"Last one," I remind her.

"And she can wait if you've had enough."

"I'm fine. Let's see what we can find."

"I don't know, Spike. You're tired again - I can feel it."

"And we've done this before. I know I'm ok for a bit. If Buffy trusts me, then you should."

"Ok, Spike. We'll give it a while longer."

Again, there's nothing. Still, that's how it started last time, so I hold onto that thought. I start to move, trying to be systematic in the search. As time goes on, I can feel Willow's rising concern. I'm concentrating on keeping my thoughts from her, building a barrier so she won't spot the fact that I am getting a bit tired. It's just one more, and the prospect of going back without her …

And then, there's a familiar signal. Not a Slayer, though, it's Angelus. And there, buried below that, is a Slayer signal. I hurry towards it, desperate to find her. Every fibre that I am is trying to get to her, and suddenly, I'm there, but this time it's different. I feel like I'm actually inside her; I can see through her eyes, feel her terror. And what I see is more than enough to cause terror. It's Angelus, and he's got that grin on his face that always meant a world of pain for whoever it's aimed at. I call out for Willow, warning her to get the Slayer back quickly, but Willow's gone.

There's no train, no carriage. Nothing. Apart from Angelus and a terrified Slayer whose body I currently seem to be sharing. Somehow, I'm lost, and I don't have the faintest idea how to get back.

* * *


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45 - 28 July 2004

It's been a hard few days. Almost harder for me than for Spike - at least he's doing something. All I've been doing is watching. Well, that and helping to calm some of the girls he's brought back. I've even had one or two of them attack me, and it's taken some pretty quick talking to persuade them that I'm not responsible for whatever's happened to them.

We're almost there. Just three more to go, although one of those is Gus' Slayer, Fiona. Each time there's another girl back, he's been there, desperate for it to be her, and each time he's been disappointed. Or relieved. Some of the girls were in a bad way although most of them will be ok - physically at least. Once their initial injuries have been sorted out, they're all being given the opportunity for some counselling. We lost one. She was so injured that she died before we could get her to the hospital and that shook us all up, but it hit Spike harder than anyone else - well, except maybe Giles. Spike was beating himself up for not getting to her quicker. Willow was worried about letting him try again at all after that, but he talked her into it.

Still, since then, he's been fine - and at last, we're almost there.

"I'm ready, Willow. And if we go now, maybe we can finish this - get them all back again." He sounds impatient, but then Willow's been trying to persuade him to leave it another hour or so.

"Maybe," she agrees. "What do you think, Buffy?"

I'm worried. I've been worried from the start, so that's hardly surprising. Although now at least we know it can be done, so the fear's not so bad. And I've got to trust him.

"It's Spike's call. He knows how he's feeling."

He flashes me a smile that says much more than seems reasonable for something so short. It's love and gratitude and a million other things at once. He puts his arms around me and kisses me.

"This is it, Pet. I know it - last time. Once all the Slayers are back, we can have some time to ourselves - maybe get away for a few days. "

"That sounds good," I answer. "Then again, actually spending a whole night in bed sounds good. I must be getting soft."

"You, Love? Never."

But I am getting soft. Loving him brings out a side of me that nothing else ever has.

And then, he's gone. As before, his body is there, his eyes closed, but Spike is gone. This is the hardest part. This is the waiting bit. I hate this feeling of uselessness. I pick up a book I started reading last time, but after a chapter, I throw it down again. I don't think I've taken in the sense of any of it. There are some magazines there too - brought in by Dawn when I complained about waiting. I leaf through a couple, but it all seems so remote from what we're doing here.

I get up and go to the window. It's a beautiful day out there, but the sunlight barely gets into the room at all. Even Moira's flat gets more light than this one since it's on the south side of the building. Then again, I suppose it's ideal for a vampire. I consider sleeping again, but I'm not sleepy. Our life these past few days has been completely taken over by the need to bring the Slayers back, and I've slept whenever Spike has, more or less. Anything like a normal routine sounds unbelievably wonderful just now.

I'm restless, unable to settle anywhere. Spike said that he thinks that time goes differently while he's gone - that he always feels he's been gone less time than he has. Well, that's fine for him, but it leaves me twiddling my thumbs - and I never did get what that's supposed to achieve.

I get that sensation that's come just before each new arrival - almost as though I've heard something - and at last, there's a Slayer. She's terrified, lunging towards me, ready to attack, but I stand ready to defend myself.

"It's ok, you're safe now."

"Safe? I haven't been safe for …"

She looks around, taking in the distinctly unthreatening surroundings.

"Where am I?"

"Glasgow." Her accent's English, I'd guess somewhere around London by the sound of it, somewhere between Giles and Spike.

"Glasgow? But how …? And who's that? He's a …" She's ignored Willow, homing in on Spike. Typical.

"Yes, he's a vamp. But he's just brought you back, and he's looking for the rest of you."

It's a scene that's been repeated with remarkably similar details every time a conscious Slayer has appeared.

"I'm Buffy."

"Buffy? But … she's …"

"I was one of the two Slayers until I shared the power."

"Oh. Er, I'm Jan."

"Are you hurt?"

"A bit. Bruised … a few cuts. I've had to defend myself."

"Ok. Let's get you to hospital, get you checked out."

"I'm fine. I just need to phone …"

"Ok. Let me just call someone. He can take you to a phone, and then run you over to the hospital for a check up."

I dial Gus' mobile, and as usual, he answers immediately.

"Is it …?

"No. Her name's Jan."

"Be right down."

The disappointment's obvious in his voice, but he's down within seconds anyway. I make the introductions, and he takes Jan upstairs to call her family.

Once she's gone, I'm back to waiting, and I make an effort to get into the book.

The next Slayer's in a bad way. I hit the speed dial for Gus but don't wait for him to answer, rushing to her side and checking her over. Gus and Angel hurry down, and between us, we try to stem the bleeding from what looks to be a stab wound to the stomach. Again, Gus shakes his head at my wordless question. This isn't Fiona.

We work for a while getting her ready to go to hospital, and when they've gone, it's quiet again.

And then, it's back to boredom again. Just one more to go, according to our records, and inevitably, it looks like that'll be the one Gus has been waiting for. Watching him as each girl arrived, seeing him either disappointed or relieved has been hard. I hope he's here when she arrives and that she's ok.

I'm not surprised when Gus returns a short while later. Angel's doing hospital duty again, and this time I know I won't be able to persuade Gus to stay upstairs. He takes a seat next to me on the sofa, but that lasts for less than a minute as he starts to pace the room. At least he's wearing soft-soled shoes, so he's quiet. Still, it's distracting, which is probably of the good. And he can certainly pace.

And then, suddenly, Willow yelps. She's in the chair with her eyes wide open and she's breathing hard. I glance towards Spike, expecting to see his eyes open too, but there's no change. Willow seems to convulse once, and then she collapses to the floor.

There's still no change with Spike, so I rush towards Willow.

"Willow! What happened?"

Willow's eyes are closed, her body inert and her breathing seems shallow.

"Get help," I shout towards Gus, but he's already gone.

A moment later, I hear Dawn rushing in, and Gus' footsteps are loud as he rushes upstairs.

"What happened?" Dawn demands.

I shake my head, trying to make sense of what little I know.

Moira comes in then. She takes one look at Spike's empty body and Willow's state, and comes to kneel beside us. She takes her fingers and puts them to Willow's temple in a move reminiscent of Spock doing a mind meld, then nods to herself. She tries to get up, but is having difficulty, so I get up and help her to her feet. She then walks towards Spike and repeats the procedure. When she turns to face me, her face is grave.

"Willow's there. She's had some sort of shock or trauma, but she has returned from the search. Spike isn't."

"So … what does that mean?"

"Willow may be able to tell us when she regains consciousness."

"Is she going to be ok?"

"I'm not expert enough to know. Maybe with a period to rest, she'll be fine, but if she's lost her grip on Spike, the wrench … there may be some damage."

"Lost her grip …" I parrot. "What …?"

"Willow was Spike's tether to this world. As long as Willow was able to return to her own body, Spike could follow and be returned to his own. I know that Willow was planning what she called a 'fail safe'. If something bad happened - something that damaged her ability to maintain contact with Spike, she had a routine which would cause them both to return immediately. My guess is that something happened, and that it caused a break in the connection."

"So what do we do? How do we bring Spike back?"

"Buffy, astral projection of this sort is inherently dangerous. Willow is skilled, and her need for the fail safe was proof that she knew just how dangerous it was for Spike. Unless, by some miracle, he can find his own way back, I'm afraid Spike's lost for good."

I walk towards Spike's body. He's exactly as he was, and it's obvious there's no one home. Suddenly, it seems like too much of an effort to stay upright. I fall to my knees at his feet, laying my head on his lap. Like this, it's almost possible to imagine that there's nothing wrong, that he's still there, and that any moment he'll stroke my hair.

"What happened?" I hear Giles' voice.

I hear Dawn and Moira trying to explain again, but I don't listen. Spike's gone. Those words are echoing through my mind, soft but insistent.

I think back over the past few days. They've been wonderful, and at the same time they've been frustrating. We've been so wrapped up in the job of bringing the Slayers back that there's been no time for Spike and me. I turn my head, and glimpse the mug Spike drank his most recent Slayer cocktail from, and I kick myself for not rinsing it. It'll be all congealed and a pain to get clean now, and of course, Spike's not going to be doing it.

Again, I regret that my blood wasn't among the rest. It doesn't seem fair that I wasn't allowed that part in saving the Slayers. And then it comes to me. I hear Willow's voice warning me not to add my blood to the cocktail in case it kept him anchored here. Well, if it could anchor him here, maybe it can bring him back. I get up from where I am.

The others all seem to be swarming around me, getting in my way. I push past, not caring that they're just trying to be comforting and that I'm being rude. I go into the kitchen and go through the drawer there, trying to find a good, sharp knife. I realise that, this being Spike's kitchen, I'm more likely to find a sharp knife among his weapons, so I go from there to his bedroom and into the box under the bed where he keeps them.

Dawn pales visibly when she sees me coming back with the knife, but I ignore her. I approach Spike and slice the pad of my thumb. There's a clamour of disapproval and confusion, but I'm not listening. I push my bleeding thumb into his mouth. Spike might not be home, but something is - his demon maybe, because there's a small contraction of his mouth around me. It's not an actual swallow, but it's something, and it's repeated a moment later.

"What are you doing?" Giles demands.

"Trying to bring him home," I state, moving my thumb around, trying to increase the response.

"Buffy, I know you're upset, but surely this can't help."

"Willow said I couldn't contribute to the Slayer blood in case it kept him here. So, I'm trying to use it to bring him back."

I can hear Dawn softly sobbing behind me, and Moira's attempts to comfort her. I don't have any tears, just the absolute conviction that this will work. Because there isn't anything else.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and hear Giles' voice as he gets down to the floor beside me.

"Buffy, let me see your thumb."

I pull it out of Spike's mouth. It's already stopped bleeding. I use the knife to re-open the cut and put it back into his mouth.

"Buffy, this is a long-shot. It's a million to one. Don't take any risks with this, please."

I don't answer him. I know it's a remote chance. It's a far cry from keeping him here to bringing him home, I know that. But I've got to hope, and no one else's given me any reason.

Between them, Gus and Giles have lifted Willow from the floor and are taking her out to the spare room. There's discussion as to what the next step is - whether she should go to hospital, or whether help should be summoned, but Moira tells them to be quiet so she can make a phone call.

She takes Gus' cell phone, squints at it, and then hands it back.

"I can't read those numbers. They're too small. Dial for me."

She recites a list of digits, which Gus obediently punches before handing the phone to Moira."

"Gwynneth? It's Moira. We need some help."

* * *


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46 - 28 July 2004

I don't think she even notices I'm here. The scene in front of her is one that is strangely familiar. I/she is manacled to a wall in what looks remarkably like a disused factory. Angelus is leering at her, and his words are intended to be chilling.

"Welcome to your new home. You'll spend a lot of your time here, although there are other areas you'll come to love. And look, you've got company! I hate to think of you girls being all alone while I'm away."

He moves slightly, allowing the girl to see the opposite wall. The shock I feel at what we see there is almost too much for a moment. It's Buffy, but she's almost unrecognisable. Rake-thin and filthy, her body covered in scars and partly healed areas that look like burns. Angel hardly pauses in his monologue to let the sight sink in.

"Do you think you'll last as long as she has? That's five years. But then, it's an art. You'll last longer than you'd think but that's my art. She's a good subject though. She's still not broken, not really. She'd still stake me if she had a chance. I just keep her weak enough that she doesn't have that chance. The trick is to find what she tolerates, what she really hates. Blood doesn't bother her. I can cut her, hit her, and somehow she copes with that. Burning her, now that's a different story. That wears down her resistance pretty quickly. And when I've got her tied to my bed … she hates that most of all. She hates that because she thought she had something special with me - as if I could love the child she was, as if a child would have any idea how to satisfy me. I wonder what you'll hate most - what'll bring a look of terror into your eyes?"

I can't take my eyes off Buffy. I know she's not my Buffy, but that doesn't seem to matter. The fury I feel is just as real as if it were. I can't imagine what he's done to her to make her scar like that. My Buffy's been hit, she's had broken limbs, she's taken a bullet, and there's never a mark to show for it once she's healed. I stare at her, and I'm not even sure I know how I recognised her so easily, until my gaze is drawn to her eyes. Her body looks broken, but her mind … she's still the same person inside, and she's looking at Angelus with an expression of loathing like I've never seen before.

Angelus makes his way across the room towards Buffy. There's a brazier, with long-handled implements heating there.

"You've had a holiday, haven't you, Lover? I'm sorry about that, but then you need to understand that it's not all about you. You haven't forgotten me, have you? You remember the little games we play and how much you enjoy them. And look, I've got a new toy."

He holds up one of the implements, and, although I can't see the detail, it's obvious it's a brand.

"I had this made 'specially for you. See? I'm the soul of generosity and I can't wait to see how it looks on you."

He puts the brand back in the fire, and rolls his shoulders before sliding out of the leather jacket he's wearing. I know the signs; he's getting himself comfortable for a long session.

There's the sound of footsteps approaching, and Angelus turns angrily towards them.

"What is it? Can't you follow a simple instruction?"

The vamp that appears is young, his face apparently not up to remaining in its human guise. He looks terrified.

"S…sorry Master. It's just … an emissary of the Three has arrived, and insisted on seeing you immediately."

Angelus screws up his eyes at that, taking several deep breaths before looking back towards the cowering vampire.

"Tell the emissary that I'll be there in a moment."

When he's gone, Angelus turns back towards Buffy.

"It looks like you'll have to be patient, Lover. Still, it'll give you the chance to get to know your new roomie. Just don't get jealous on me. You know you have to share, so I don't want any sulking. See you later."

He turns towards me/the other Slayer, checking that her chains are tight enough before blowing an exaggerated kiss at both girls and walking away.

Buffy's shoulders slump in relief. She's doing her best to seem strong, but that gesture shows just how much her defiance is costing her.

I make a determined effort to push my fury aside, and explore where I am. I can pick up on a lot of things from the girl, one of which is confirmation that this is Fiona, and beyond that, there's a perfectly understandable terror. My first instinct is to try to calm her. Apart from anything else, I'm finding it hard to think clearly between my own anger and her fear. I start slowly, gently, just repeating her name over and over, until I've got her attention. Of course, she doesn't know what it is that's whispering her name, but once she's listening, I try to explain that I'm a friend. Not surprisingly, she's just trying to shut me out, thinking that her fear is responsible for voices in her head, so I go further, recounting one of the fights Gus told me about, one where a vamp in a kilt was annoyed that she'd interrupted an argument he was having with another vamp. I push in as many details as I can remember, trying to at least persuade her that I'm a friend of Gus. At last, she's actually listening, so I try to explain what happened to her, and how we were trying to rescue her. When she seems to have suspended her disbelief, she's willing to at least listen.

"So, what's the plan?" There's a note of hope in her tone, and I'm wishing I could give her one - a plan that's simple and foolproof - but so far, I don't have one.

"Well, let's see. Do you think you could let me speak? I mean, using your voice. Can I try to control it?"

"You know what? This is freaky."

"And being transported to another dimension isn't?"

"Ok, ok. Try it. I won't stop you."

I feel around in her mind for a while, and then I give up trying to work it out, deciding to just speak as if I were in my own body. It works. The voice isn't mine, but, from the surprised note in Fiona's thoughts, the accent seems to be.

"Buffy, Buffy, can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you. He hasn't damaged my hearing - wants me to listen to what he says too much for that."

"Ok, Buffy. Listen. This girl, the one who seems to be talking to you, she's a Slayer."

"You don't say! He wouldn't waste his time on a mere human any more. Wouldn't last long enough to be interesting. And what do you mean, 'the one who seems to be talking' to me?"

"It's complicated. But this Slayer, she doesn't come from your world. She's been brought in from another one, one in which you, another you, managed to share the Slayer power so that every potential Slayer became a Slayer."

"Neat trick. Wish I'd thought of it."

"Yeah, well. A group of us, well, we've been trying to rescue the girls - there were others taken too - and Fiona here's the last one."

Fiona decides enough is enough and over-rides me then.

"Can we have a bit less chat? I thought you had a plan to get us out of here?"

The change in accent is obvious, so at least Buffy's got some chance to follow who's talking.

"I do, Pet," I answer her silently. "But part of it is finding out what Buffy knows about Angelus' habits."

She's silent then, leaving me to continue.

"You know? This is really confusing. You're really trying to tell me that you rescue people by taking over their bodies?"

"Not as a rule. Didn't mean to do it this time either, but that's just how it worked out. Look, I need you to think. Is there something we can do, some opportunity that you haven't been strong enough to take …?"

"Not a chance. I've tried everything. I've even died four times. He just keeps bringing me back - got a special shaman for that. Last time, he said I was too damaged for him to do it again. I'm all mixed up inside - bits have healed all wrong. Seems there's a limit to Slayer healing after all."

"Look, Buffy, Pet, just think."

"Pet? Who are you? Do I … know you?"

"Er, no," I manage. Telling her who I am with her history might just guarantee that she won't help at all.

"If he doesn't know you, then why does he keep getting pictures of you in his head without all the scars, and … wait. He loves you, or someone who looks very like you."

"Ok, I admit. I know a version of you. But that's not important. I'm here to try to get Fiona home, and get you out of here."

"Won't work."

"What won't work? It isn't like you to just give up."

"Five years of Angelus; are you sure? But that's not what I mean. There's something about this place, some enchantment. Without it, I'm already dead. Escape to anything other than death isn't an option, and right now, death seems like a very good idea."

I can hear someone approaching, so I quickly tell Buffy, "Think. Just think. Any ideas, any at all."

There's a long pause before she answers. "He's most vulnerable when he unchains us. I think it's part of the thrill for him – a Slayer who's too weak to hurt him. That's the only chance. Probably later, once he's had enough in here, he'll make me shower - tell me I'm filthy. There's a short time then when there are no chains, just him holding me. With you here, he'll probably have back up – just in case. He used to for me too, at the start."

"Who? Dru?"

"Dru? The only people I know who call her that are Angel and Spike."

"I've heard about her from Angel," I say quickly. "He got his soul back in my universe."

"Are you ... Angel?" Her tone holds a wistfulness that's heartbreaking.

"No, not him."

"So, even with the soul back, we don't ..."

"Your choice, Pet. In the end, you chose to go a different way."

"Oh." I can hear from her tone of voice that she doesn't quite believe me, maybe can't bring herself to believe that things could be different, but she goes on anyway. "No, it won't be Dru. She left … near the start. She didn't like the amount of time he was spending with me, and Spike took her off somewhere."

"So, who?"

"Whichever female vamps he's got around. They don't last long - he gets annoyed with them and stakes them. He won't let any of the males in on it – one of them had some ideas a couple of years ago."

"Will Fiona be unchained then too?"

"Probably. He might want her just to watch, or he might want to have a go. You never know."

There's a frisson of fear running through Fiona that's in addition to the overall terror she's feeling.

"Ok, good. Fiona, you ok to act then?"

"I can try," she admits. "But staking him, even if we can do it, won't get us home."

"No, Pet."

"So how …?"

"I'm working on it. Honestly, I'm working on it."

I go back to questioning Buffy, not knowing how long we've got until Angelus gets back.

"What about other security? Can we get away from here? How many has he got around?"

"I don't know. I only see them one or two at a time, and they're always different. He tells me that he's staked this one or that one, so I get the feeling that he just makes a few vamps when he needs them, and then stakes them when they annoy him."

"But they're probably all young?"

"Probably. I don't know."

"That's good. Young vamps are still growing into their power - they shouldn't be a problem for a healthy Slayer - especially with me helping."

"If I'm fighting, just keep out of my way. It's not going to help me to have you yammering in my head." Fiona sounds annoyed at the prospect, but that's good. Annoyed is better than scared.

In the silence that follows, I'm desperately trying to work out a way to get us back. Without Willow, I can't even see a way of getting out of Fiona's head, let alone back to my own body. The smell of Buffy's blood is so strong, I can actually taste it. I look her over, trying to see how she's hurt, but I can't see anything fresh, anything that could account for the smell/taste.

"What's that?" Fiona asks, mainly herself, but me too.

"What?"

"That taste. I know you're getting it too. It's like blood - like I cut my finger and sucked on it."

"Buffy," I ask. "Are you bleeding anywhere?"

"Nothing fresh," she answers. "Angelus likes to start with a clean slate from time to time. He knows it's always worse that way."

That little fact is one I already know from my own experience, but it doesn't answer the question. I concentrate on the flavour. It's real Buffy. My Buffy. But … I got pretty good at ignoring Slayer signals that weren't native to my world. This Buffy would have that 'not-quite-rightness' about her blood that's common for Slayers in all the other worlds. So, if I'm getting my Buffy …

I concentrate hard on the taste, trying to find its source. It's outside of Fiona, and I experiment, trying to work out how I can follow it, and then I spot a way out. In fact, I'm almost outside Fiona before I realise it, and I go back quickly, not wanting to leave without explaining my plan.

"I think I've found a way to get back. I'm going to go, follow it, and I'll try to bring back someone who'll help. Please, just keep calm. I'll be back; I promise."

It's obvious that Fiona doesn't believe me, and I can feel her desperately trying to hold onto my presence in her mind.

"Fiona, what do you think Gus'd do to me if he thought I'd abandoned you here?"

"He'd …" A series of lurid pictures follow, with Gus looking at least seven feet tall in each of them.

"Yeah, well, let's not go into details, but we both know it wouldn't be pretty. I'll be back."

And with that, I lurch outside, following a thread that I can feel rather than see. It's fine to the point of almost breaking at times, but it holds true, and at last, I feel that free-fall sensation that I associate with rejoining my body. I open my eyes to find my Buffy, her red-rimmed eyes on my face and her thumb rather incongruously in my mouth.

Instinctively, I run my tongue over the cut on her thumb, savouring the taste of her blood. She's staring at me, as if she doesn't quite believe that I'm back, and then her arms are around my neck and she's kissing me, and for a second, the rest of the world, of the universe, fades into nothing.

* * *


	47. Chapter 47

_Author's note: This chapter has been up at my site since Wednesday. I've been having problems uploading to and until this morning, it hasn't been possible to post here. As far as I can tell, the problem is intermittent, and there's no understanding of what's causing it. In the meantime, you can always check out my site (the address is in my profile) and read new chapters there._

_I normally update here and at my site at the same time, and I apologise for the delay in this instance.  
_

Chapter 47

At first, I think I just imagined it. There's a more definite movement of Spike's tongue along my thumb, but when it happens again, and is immediately followed by him opening his eyes, I know he's back. I'm on his lap and kissing him in a second, but he pushes me away too quickly.

"Where's Willow?"

"She's in the bedroom. She's unconscious. Moira's with her, trying to bring her around. What happened?"

He jumps up, placing me on my feet as he does so.

"Who else is there?"

"Gus, Giles and Dawn. Angel's still at the hospital."

He takes my hand in his, and we go into the bedroom. The sight that meets us there is rather surreal. Moira's sitting on the bed next to Willow. Her hands are on Willow's head, and her normally white hair seems to be glowing. Dawn and Giles are watching, looking concerned, but glance up in surprise as we go in.

"Spike!" Dawn squeals, coming to meet us. She hugs him, then looks back to the bed.

"What's happening?" Spike demands.

"More important, what happened to Willow?" Giles intervenes. "If we understood that, perhaps we would have more success at understanding how to bring her round."

"In a nutshell, found Fiona. She's being held captive by yet another other-worldly Angelus. He's already made a pin-cushion of that world's Buffy, but she's not going to live for long, so he's setting up for Fiona to take over. We've got to get her out of there pretty quick or she's in for a world of pain."

"If you found her, why didn't Willow bring her back?" Gus is there, in front of Spike and he's looking irate.

"Don't really know. I went towards the Slayer, saw Angelus, and found myself inside the Slayer's head. Willow was gone. Now, I need to go back and get Fiona."

"You left her there? Knowing that, you just left her?" He looks like he could hit Spike, and Spike cringes at the prospect. We all know that Gus wouldn't stand a chance against Spike, but I also know Spike. He's feeling guilty enough to let Gus hit him without fighting back.

"Didn't want to, Mate. But without Willow, I can't get her home. I spent some time in there, gave her some ideas towards a plan to get away from Angelus, but we need to bring her home. You know I would have stayed if I'd known Willow couldn't come straight back with me."

He slumps at that. "I know, Spike. It's just ..."

"I know, Mate. And I'm going to see that bastard dust before I'm finished, I promise you."

"It's too easy, dusting him."

"'Course it is, but I don't think we've got any other option while we're working so far from home. We'll just have to settle for making sure he doesn't hurt anyone else. Ever."

"What about the other Buffy?" I ask.

"She says she's been dead four times already, and that there's some enchantment on the place she's in that's keeping her alive. Best we can do is hope for a quick end for her, and if she can manage to see Angelus dust first, I think she'll be happy."

I get an awful sick feeling as I think about her, how she must feel, how I'd feel if Angel hadn't had his soul returned and he'd spent all this time ... I stop that line of thought quickly. She needs our help, not our pity. Spike's eyes are slightly glazed, showing that he feels the same, and I can see a recognition in Giles' eyes too, perhaps since he's experienced Angelus first hand. I see his eyes meet Spike's and there's a single flash of understanding between them. I know there's no love lost between Spike and Angel, but for the first time, I suspect a deeper reason than simply incompatible personalities and an overload of testosterone.

Moira has stopped glowing, and turns around to face us.

"I'm afraid I can't reach her. I can't find anything wrong, as such. Gwynneth's been working with me, but we both think it'd be better if she came here in person. She's a gifted healer, and she'll find it easier without my interference."

Spike tenses at the news. "We've got to do something, and fast. Fiona's about to find out how Angelus destroyed Dru's sanity first hand."

"Spike, how did you get back? I thought ..." Moira gets up from the bed and moves towards us, her eyes on Spike.

"I'm fine, Mrs. M. Buffy sent out the one signal she knew I couldn't ignore. But I've got to go back."

"What happened?"

Spike repeats the bare bones of the story, while I keep an eye on Gus who's pacing the room. He looks as if he's having a problem holding on to his anger.

"I'll be your guide." Moira's voice is quiet after the last exchange, but it gets everyone's attention.

"Moira, no! You're not strong enough," Giles says, his voice almost shockingly loud.

"I'll be fine. Spike's already been there; it should be easy enough for him to go back. We'll pop in and transport Fiona back here. Gwynneth's going to fly up as soon as she can. Unfortunately, Willow's the most adept at teleporting I've known, apart from me. I don't do it a lot these days because, well, it's not something you do except in a dire emergency. And, by the sound of it, this certainly merits that label. Spike, you need to think about what we can do for the other Buffy. Could we bring her back here? If there's any chance we could save her and send her back ..."

"I don't think she wants to be saved – not any more. She's been dead before, and ..."

"Let her die," I say quietly. Memories of being brought back from the dead are still vivid even though I'm long over the worst of them.

"We should bring her back here," Spike suggests.

"But ..." I butt in.

"No, Buffy, hear me out. We can bring her back here. She might die pretty quickly, but at least she won't be alone, and there won't be any chance of Angelus hurting her any more, or, if we manage to dust him, of anyone else deciding to take over where he left off. Once she's here, if there's time, we can give her a choice – let Gwynneth and Moira see if they can heal her, or let her die among friends."

"Friends?" Buffy asks. "Who?"

"Ok, I know, she wouldn't consider me a friend, and she wouldn't know Dawn or Moira or Gus. She might not want to see Angel, but she might, and if she doesn't, then there's Giles and even Willow if she's awake. And at least she wouldn't be alone."

"Ok," I agree. "If Angelus has been running free for that long, there won't be anyone left alive in her world that she cares about. Bring her here too, even if it's just to die."

"Let's get ourselves ready," Moira suggests to Spike. "Is there more Slayer blood?"

"Yeah. I'll go and get it."

Spike leaves the room, and Giles takes that opportunity to speak.

"Moira, this is foolishness. How do you know you won't just end up like Willow in there? That you'll be able to get everyone back again?"

"Simple. I won't use a fail-safe. I'm as certain as I can be that that's the reason for Willow's condition. She had a shock – I'd guess seeing Angelus there – and the fail-safe triggered. What she didn't account for is the tenacity of Spike here – continuing on, regardless of his own safety."

Spike's voice comes from the doorway. "I didn't mean ... I didn't know ..." Spike looks stricken with guilt.

"Spike, that's not what I mean. You reacted as you were bound to. Willow thought she was powerful enough to bring you back regardless of your wishes, and in this instance, she miscalculated. I'm hopeful that she's suffered no permanent damage, so you need to get your mind off Willow and back to the matter in hand."

"But without the fail-safe..." I start to argue.

"Buffy, think about it. Spike managed to come back with a little help from you last time. If he did it once, there's no reason to think he couldn't do it again."

"What about you? Are you up to this?" Giles' voice is softer this time.

"Rupert, I'm going to be sitting in a chair, and I've got to do a couple of teleportations. It's been a while, but I'll be fine. And anyway, right now, it's either me, or we leave Fiona to her fate."

"What about Gwynneth? Couldn't she ...?"

"Gwynneth is a healer. That's why I contacted her. She has no experience with astral projection. Asking her to go would be foolish, and would need a delay of at least a day, as would bringing someone else more suited to astral projection, and then you've got the teleportations. Without blowing my own trumpet, I'm the best bet we've got unless you can wake Willow up. Do you want to leave Fiona at Angelus' mercy for a day in our time, bearing in mind that that might be much longer from her point of view? I'm experienced, and the effort will be mental rather than physical, or are you trying to suggest that I'm going soft in the head as well as getting all weak and useless?"

Her tone of voice has Giles looking like a naughty child again, and I've got to be impressed at that skill.

Spike holds up his mug of blood. "Are you sure about this, Mrs. M?" he asks.

"Don't you start. I'm fine. And I promise to rest after everyone's safe."

He takes her hand and squeezes it hard, then lifts it to his lips and kisses it. Moira's eyes take on a sparkle that makes her look years younger for a moment, but then, Spike has that effect on women.

"Right, Mrs. M. Straight in and back again; no detours. Right?"

"Right," she grins. "I'm going to enjoy this. I haven't been anywhere really interesting for a long time."

Spike swallows the blood down and escorts Moira to her chair before settling himself opposite her. A moment later, they're both gone.

* * *


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48 - 28 July 2004

There's no detail this time, no train, just Moira and me, flying superman-style through an endless space filled with pinprick lights. Not that I can see her - it's more a sense of her at my side, and like that, without the physical evidence of her age, she seems strong and full of life. I send out my senses, trying to pick up Fiona's signal, and to my relief, I find it quickly. We move towards it, finding both Slayers where I left them. There's fear and pain in nauseating detail, and Angelus at the centre of everything. This time, it's different from any other time. With Willow, I just pointed out the direction and she did the transporting, so I missed out on the details, well, if you don't count last time. This time, I'm there; I can see the whole scene, smell the blood and the sickening stench of burned flesh. Buffy has a range of new burns on her body, most of them just areas of charred flesh, but one, on her chest, in the space between her breasts, is shockingly clear. It's a Claddagh – and it no doubt has some significance for Angelus.

Buffy looks worse than ever. She's in pain, but that's not the worst of it. The absolute misery coming off her in waves is like a physical sensation, sucking out all positive emotions and replacing them with despair. Fiona's more scared than any girl her age should have any reason to be, and hanging like she is, she's probably in some significant pain, but that's all I'm getting. No doubt she feels I've abandoned her, but I've got no way of letting her know I'm back.

I take a look around the room, searching for anything that might help, but there's nothing obvious - no apparent weapon. Then I spot a table placed between the two Slayers, and on it is a small stack of paper and some pencils. I take a quick look, and the page on top is a sketch of Buffy, her face contorted in agony. I always thought the bastard sketched like that so he could use the drawings to increase the terror in his intended victims. I can only assume these are for himself - to remember the horror he meted out to her.

Moira has been looking around too, and I point out the pencils to her; she seems to understand.

Angelus has a filthy, damp rag in his hand, and he's rubbing the brand mark on Buffy. "There you are, Buffy. I knew you'd look wonderful in the Claddagh – better than the ring – and you can't lose this one. In fact, I think it's time to get you properly cleaned up. How do you expect me to put up with you stinking like that? What do you say we just leave your pal here – I feel like having you all to myself tonight."

He approaches the manacles at her wrists with a key, roughly unlocking her arms and pulling her off-balance. She slumps into his arms for a moment, and he makes a comment about needing to be patient, but she quickly struggles to her feet despite the cost that exacts in pain. I recognise the tingle of magic as Moira reaches out, and Fiona's gone. I feel a wave of relief that we've achieved that much, and then there's a smaller sensation of magic, and a pencil has found its way from the table into Buffy's hand.

Angelus' attention is drawn from Buffy as the chains that had held Fiona hit the stone wall, and, with a speed born of desperation, Buffy takes her opportunity to use the pencil to stake him. His face is a mask of disbelief, but it's all over in a second. With the effort of staking him, Buffy falls to her knees, smiling quietly to herself.

There's another pull of magic, and Buffy's gone too. Moira reaches out to me, and moments later, I flop back into my body and open my eyes. This time, I'm not the centre of anyone's attention, and I take in the various scenes playing out before me. I glance over to the chair where Moira's sitting, and see Dawn hugging her. To my left is Gus, kneeling on the floor and cradling Fiona, who's sobbing out her relief into his shoulder. There's no evidence of injury other than where her wrists were manacled, but we can get her checked out later. On my right is a small crowd with Buffy and Giles leaning over the other rescued Slayer. I home in on her heartbeat, and it's dangerously weak. I listen to what's being said there, but stay out of sight. She doesn't need to see one of her enemies just now, and to her, that's all I'll ever be.

"Giles? You're here!" she whispers. "You died ... everyone died. He killed all of them – all my friends, anyone I cared about. I never had the chance to say … sorry."

"There's no need, Buffy. Look, we can try to heal you. Just hold on."

"No. This is good. I got him in the end. I dusted Angelus. It's all I've been waiting for, the only thing that gave me hope. Anyway, I know what's in store for me - been there, would still be there if Angelus hadn't dragged me back. It's ok."

She pauses then and seems to be gathering her strength. A puzzled frown comes over her face. "Just one thing - who was it who came? She said it was someone in her head. Someone who knew … you - who loved you."

My Buffy smiles at that. "You're going to find that hard to believe." She moves to her left, clearing a line of sight between the other Buffy and me.

"S … Spike? Spike is saving Slayers?"

"Yeah," my Buffy answers.

"So now I'm in bizarro land." Her voice has been getting weaker throughout, and she breathes another twice, before her heart falters and stops. Giles gently closes her eyes. You often hear people saying that the dead look at peace, but the horrendous injuries that are visible on her body, the most recent of which is the parody of a Claddagh, prevent that impression. You've just got to believe from everything my Buffy remembers from when she was dead, and the memories of this Buffy, that she's in a better place now, and that her suffering is over.

I tear my eyes away from her, and that's when I see Dawn. She's close to Moira, and she's shaking her arm. The old woman looks pleased, her mouth formed into a gentle smile, and her eyes are closed. I jump out of the chair, desperately trying to hear her heat beat, and when I manage to pick it out I'm horrified. And then I hear her whisper my name.

"Spike."

I'm at her side, and I kneel to be closer to her.

"It's ok, Moira. We'll get an ambulance. Don't talk - save your strength." I glance up and Giles nods to indicate he'll do that.

"Too late. Is Fiona ok?"

"Yes."

"And the other Buffy?"

"Gone somewhere better."

She nods once.

"And you?"

"I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about."

"Don't. Spike, that's … your biggest … failing. You … care … too much. I … chose this. Would … do it … again. Guilt … is such … a waste."

Her struggling heart stops then, a silence in my ears that's almost deafening. While Moira was talking, Buffy joined me on the floor. I pull Moira from the chair, laying her flat. I don't need to tell Buffy what I want - she breathes for Moira while I do compressions, alternating in some sort of automatic pattern.

We keep up the work until the ambulance arrives, then move away while the paramedics take over, but it's obvious from their expressions that they think it's hopeless. Relieved of breathing for Moira, Buffy goes to comfort Dawn, and the two girls hug as she sobs broken-heartedly. I feel completely lost. The paramedics continue to work on Moira, getting her ready for transport to hospital. A glance outside shows that it's dark, something I haven't taken note of for what seems like days, so I offer to follow the ambulance with Dawn while Buffy goes along with Moira. Giles is torn, but volunteers to remain to look after Willow.

We drive to the hospital – not the private one Giles had set up – it's back to the Southern General in tense silence. Dawn's tears stopped as soon as Moira was loaded onto the ambulance. I'm worried for her. I'm scared she thinks that the fact that Moira's on her way to hospital means that she's going to be ok. I can't fault the paramedics – they're doing everything they can - but I just know what the verdict will be once she's at the hospital. Moira's a tough old bird, but she's not a Slayer. I know death when I see it. I've caused it often enough.

Once at the hospital, Moira's rushed into A and E, into a room where we can't follow. Instead, we're taken aside by someone at reception, and we answer a host of questions. We're sent to sit in the waiting area, and what seems like hours later but in reality is probably much less, we're taken aside.

"How is she?" Buffy asks. The doctor looks strained. It can't be easy giving bad news even if you have to do it regularly.

"Mrs. McConnechie was pronounced dead a few moments ago. There was nothing we could do."

Dawn seems ready to attack the doctor, and Buffy pulls closer to me, squeezing my hand to the point of pain.

"She can't be. They ... they kept breathing for her. You've got to go and try again. You've got to ..." Dawn's voice is shrill.

"Everything was done that could have been. The damage to her heart was just too great. It must have been a massive heart attack – even if she had been in hospital when it happened, it's unlikely we could have done anything for her."

Dawn turns around, looking at Buffy and me, as if willing us to argue, but there's nothing else we can say. We each raise an arm towards her, and she falls into our arms, one sobbing girl, another who's unnaturally quiet, and a shocked and miserable vampire in a desperate huddle.

"I need to call Giles," Buffy mutters some time later. She searches her pockets for her phone, and dials the number. She starts to speak twice before giving up and handing the phone to me.

"Rupert, she's gone. Moira's dead."

"I see. I'll inform Gus, and we've got details of her legal representation in the office. I'll contact them in the morning so that they can handle the formalities. Are you coming back here?"

"I suppose so," I manage. "How's Willow doing?"

"The same. She seems peaceful, but unresponsive."

I always intended to keep the call short, but in truth, there's nothing more to say. Giles would sound cold to some, but I know better. Sometimes, it's easier to seem cold, to let the necessities take over while you come to terms with a tragedy.

A short while later, we make our way back out to the car, but there's an air of unreality, a strange shimmer to the air that makes me glad it's late and that there's not much traffic on the road. I take the girls into Moira's flat, but that doesn't seem to help Dawn. For a moment, I'm about to suggest going into my flat, but there's the small matter of a dead and mutilated Slayer in there, so that's not a good idea.

I put the kettle on - there's something about the routine of making tea that's almost comforting in itself - then take a cup to each of the girls.

"I'm going to pop next door - see what's happening with Willow."

Dawn grabs my hand, as if to try to keep me there, but I squeeze it gently.

"I'll be right back. Not leaving you two alone tonight, not unless you want me to."

She nods at that, and Buffy gives me a slight smile.

I let myself into the flat, and take a look in the living room. The other Buffy is still lying where she was, although someone has taken a sheet and covered her with it. From there, I go into the spare room, where I find Giles, eyes closed and with his head on his hand in a chair next to the bed.

"How's she doing?" I ask, softly.

He wakes with a start, but being Giles, has to pretend that he wasn't asleep.

"The same."

"I'm going to stay with Buffy and Dawn tonight - so my bed's going to be empty if you need to crash."

"Er … no. I want to stay here in case she comes round. I've had a call from Gwynneth - with her flight details. I'm going to collect her in … " he looks at his watch, "six hours."

"I'll take over then," I promise.

"I've made some calls, and there should be someone around to collect … the other Buffy. We'll arrange a small, private burial as soon as we can. The Council will take care of the formalities. I called Gus to tell him. Fiona's at home with her family. She didn't want to go to hospital tonight, and Gus wasn't going to argue with her. And Angel has gone to his hotel. The injured Slayer's family has arrived, and he felt in the way. I told him what happened too."

"Good." I pause, trying to find the words I need to say. "Rupert, I'm sorry. You were right. Moira wasn't up to it, and I should have stopped her."

"No more than I. She wasn't a child, not an immature Slayer. She was a mature woman, wise in the ways of the world. She made a choice, in the knowledge that to do otherwise was to condemn Fiona to a horrible fate. Whatever you're guilty of, it shouldn't be this. She told me once, about a year ago, that she had lived too long without Duncan, her late husband. She believed that when she died, she would be with him again. Let us both hope that she's with him now, that they've been reunited."

"If that's what she believed, then I'm sure that's what happened. Never known that woman to be wrong."

Giles smiles wryly at that, and I leave him to go back to Buffy and Dawn.

The sight that greets me when I get back is surprising but welcome. Dawn's asleep, her head on Buffy's shoulder.

"Can you help me lift her?" Buffy asks. "I could do it, but from this angle, I'd probably wake her."

I lift her carefully, and Buffy gets up and leads the way into the bedroom she's been sharing with her sister. Buffy pulls down the covers, and I place Dawn on the bed, leaving Buffy to make her sister comfortable.

When Buffy comes back out, she comes straight into my arms. I hold her close for a while, but then she steps back and looks at me.

"What's going to happen to the other me?"

"Giles is arranging a funeral."

"She … he hurt her so badly. I know what he was like - knew what he did to Giles - but seeing it like that … on my body … and that … thing on her chest."

"The Claddagh?"

"Yeah. He … Angel … gave me a Claddagh ring for my seventeenth birthday. That was the night we … that he lost his soul. After I sent him to Hell, I took the ring, put it on the spot where I … last saw him. I never saw it again, but it was the same spot where there was an Angel-shaped scorch mark after he got back."

"I guessed it was special in some way. It's Angelus' style to take something good and turn it into a source of pain."

"Where's Angel? Still at the hospital?"

"No. Her family came, so he's gone to his hotel."

"Good. He shouldn't see … the body."

"Maybe he shouldn't. I don't know."

"How're you anyway?"

"I'm fine," I tell her. "Just … I just wish I could be having this conversation with Moira too."

"Yeah.."

"Do you want to get some sleep? You go and I'll stay in here."

"No, Spike. I know there's a bed in there, and that it'd be more comfortable than the sofa, even with Dawn's snoring to contend with, but I just need to be touching you. I need to be sure that you're here, that you came back. I thought I'd lost you, and with everything else, it's like you're my anchor, and if you're gone, I'll just drift away."

I stroke her face then, and I kiss her, and we walk over to the sofa where we sit, her head on my shoulder, as we wait for the dawn, and the way that the world goes on despite the passing of a brave and wonderful woman.

I can't fully take it in. Moira made me believe I could do what I'd set out to do - make a life for myself. Her belief in me let me believe in myself. I don't know - maybe it was her age, the fact that she seemed to be right about everything else, so I believed she was right about me. And she brought Buffy back into my life. I was ready to give up that dream. Moira showed me I could have both. I just wish she was going to be here to see it happen.

I've been on this earth a long time, and I've seen death – death I didn't cause. So many good people gone, but apart from when Buffy died, I can't think that someone's death has ever hurt so much.

* * *


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter 49 - 29 July 2004**

I can't get the image out of my mind. Whenever I close my eyes, there's the Claddagh - joined hands and hearts - burned into my skin. My hand goes to that place, between my breasts, as if to make sure that it's not there, that my skin is undamaged. Seeing what he did to her, or the results of what he did to her … I can barely imagine how she suffered. When I think about what Angelus did to me and how much he hurt me, it's impossible to imagine the difference in scale. He killed everyone in her life, he used her body as his plaything, he scarred her, dragged her out of heaven more than once, and yet he didn't destroy her spirit. That's the only point of light in a sea of darkness and pain. Despite everything, when she had her opportunity, she staked him.

I know that Spike and Dawn are hurting - that Moira's death is causing them pain - and I know that I'll miss her too, but somehow, I can't focus on that. My sorrow at her death will come, I'm sure of it, but it's as if my subconscious has decided that I can't deal with it just now, and so it's just not trying. For now, it doesn't seem to matter. Spike's here for me, and I'm here for him and Dawn. What the next few days will bring, I don't know. Well, at some level, I do know. It'll be similar to when Mom died, I assume, with a funeral to be arranged and everything, but there aren't any details at the moment.

It's light outside - the sun rose a while ago, and Spike's snoozing beside me, his head on my shoulder. I haven't slept, what with the visions I get every time I close my eyes, but I know Spike needed to get some rest.

Dawn appears at the door, dressed but looking every bit as tired as before she slept. Her eyes are still red too. She gives me a half-smile, and mimes, asking me if I want something to eat. I nod, not because I'm hungry, but because she needs me more than Spike does at this moment. I slip out from under him as gently as I can and follow her into the kitchen.

I check the time, and realise that it's only half an hour until Giles needs to go to the airport. I know Spike said he'd cover Willow, but it's probably better if he gets some sleep.

"After we've eaten, I need to go and sit with Willow. Want to come?"

"Why? What's happening?"

"Giles is going to meet Gwynneth at the airport. As far as I know, there's been no change, but Willow probably shouldn't be left alone."

"Sure. How's Spike?"

"Upset. I mean, really upset. Not that he's wallowing in it or anything; it's just that he's not good at hiding his feelings."

"Yeah. It's just … not fair. It's all Angel's fault. If it hadn't been for him …"

"Dawn, it doesn't help to hand out blame. I know, there was a time when I wouldn't blame Angel for things Angelus did, and I still think that Angel would be as horrified as we are at what we saw last night, but it wasn't even the same Angel, just like that Buffy wasn't me. There are differences - maybe they're inherent, maybe they're because of different experience, but we don't know that it would have been the same here if Willow hadn't returned Angel's soul or I hadn't sent him to Hell or …"

"I … just don't think I can even bear to look at him. He killed Moira."

"Not directly; that Angelus probably never even heard of Moira."

"Don't try to sound all mature about it. I saw your face when you saw the other Buffy. You're sickened by what he did too."

"Yes, but …"

"But nothing. You deal with him if you want to, but keep him out of my way."

We make some toast and coffee, with enough for Giles too, and go next door. He's in the bathroom when we arrive - I can hear the sound of running water. I leave Dawn to take the food into the kitchen, then call through the door to let him know we're here, and walk into the bedroom to see Willow.

She's lying as she was the last time I saw her. There's no sign of pain or fear or any other emotion on her face - it's completely passive and at rest.

I go into the kitchen, and a moment later, Giles comes in, dressed in trousers and shirt, and still towelling his hair.

"I don't have time to get a change of clothes before I go to the airport, but I thought the least I could do is clean up. I'm not sure what shampoo designed for bleached hair is going to do for me, though."

"Relax, Giles. It'll just be real gentle. Bleaching makes hair dry and it just needs a bit of extra TLC."

"As long as I don't end up looking like Spike's father, I'll survive."

His tone is severe, but there's a levity to his words. I wonder at the reason, as he picks up his coffee and a slice of buttered toast.

"You ok? Not that it's not welcome, but jokes about being Spike's dad are not what I'd expect from you."

"I … I spoke to him last night. The truth is, I've been watching him since I got here. And no, I don't think he's good enough for you, but then, I'm not sure who would be. I might not like the way he does things, but I can't argue that when something needs to be done, he's there, regardless of personal risk. He does love you. I can see that. I've tried to justify his actions with all sorts of less edifying motives, but the only one that really fits is love. Again, he sometimes doesn't show it in an acceptable form, but … I suppose I've been hard on him. Partly because I had these notions of him, and one by one he's proved me wrong. He stuck around. He stayed here, working on getting the Slayers back without knowing you would be coming here. He … impressed Moira, and I can think of few people who succeeded in that - goodness knows I've often been found wanting in that respect. And … last night, when he'd done it, he was the bloody hero of the hour, and he apologised to me for going ahead when Moira wasn't up to it. As if …"

"He apologised? He's feeling guilty?"

"Yes. I told him he had no need. Pointed out that Moira knew what she was doing. That the risk was hers to take, and for someone else to take the blame was to somehow steal her glory. He … seemed to understand."

"Oh."

"And … what he said was exactly what I was thinking. I was feeling the same, guilt that I hadn't stopped her, but when he said that, I realised the truth. There should have been no guilt about you jumping into the vortex to save Dawn, or Spike burning up while closing the Hellmouth. You both knew exactly what you were doing, and you did it for the good of others. What Moira did was the same."

I munch a bit of toast while I think about that.

"Any word from Angel or Gus?"

"Not yet. I expect Gus will be at Fiona's as early as he can, but I don't know about Angel."

"Did you move the body?"

"No, it was collected a couple of hours ago. When I get back from the airport, I need to get on with arranging her funeral. I think Glasgow would be as good as anywhere - it's not like it's her world anyway, and her home … Sunnydale … is at the bottom of a crater."

"Maybe that's what we should do."

"What?"

"Well, if she's cremated, then we could take her ashes and sprinkle them into the crater. At least then she'd be close to our Mom. What do you think, Dawn?"

"Yeah. That feels … right. I think maybe she'd like that."

"It certainly minimises the potential questions as regards her appearance. I'll look into it."

"What about Moira?"

"As I said last night, I can contact her solicitor - he used to deal with aspects of our lease on the office upstairs. If she has a will, or instructions on what to do in the event of her death, I suspect he'd know about it."

"Any family?"

"Not that she ever mentioned."

Giles glances at his watch, and quickly drains his coffee.

"Time I wasn't here. Dawn, do you feel like coming with me? Just for a change of scenery."

Dawn looks surprised, then nods.

"Yeah, I'll come along." She waits until Giles moves away before adding quietly in my ear, "Less chance of seeing Angel."

Once they've gone, I go in and sit beside Willow. I don't wait long before Spike appears, looking as if he's just wakened.

"Did Rupert waken you?" he asks. "I said I'd cover him while he went to the airport."

"No. I was awake and you weren't, so I came over."  
"Bit still asleep?"

"No. She went with Giles. She really doesn't want to run into Angel any time soon."

"No, well, seeing what I've seen lately, doesn't do anything to improve my opinion of the bloke either."

He says it quietly, as if he's expecting an argument, but I can't find words to disagree.

"I know. I can't get … that thing … the Claddagh, out of my mind. Every time I close my eyes, just the fact that he would use that … to hurt her …"

He crosses the distance to me quickly, and takes me in his arms. He just holds me for a moment, but it's obvious that he's wondering whether or not to say something.

"What?"

"Been thinking about that - the Claddagh. She said she'd been with him five years."

I nod, not sure where he's taking this.

"And Buffy'd been dead already. Now, even with some souped-up shaman to do the mojo, he couldn't be sure she'd come back, could he?"

"Probably not," I agree, still struggling with my sleep-deprived brain to see where this is going.

"See, once he'd thought of it, Angelus has patience. He'd wait until the perfect moment to use that on her. But there's no way he'd risk missing his chance."

"So, what're you suggesting?"

"That you … or one of us … were meant to see that. We were meant to know what … might have happened if the Senior Partners had managed to keep you, and if the other Angelus had managed to get his mitts on you."

"But how would they know we'd go after the other Slayers that way?"

"Maybe they didn't, but maybe, once we'd rescued the first few, they arranged something special for Fiona. I don't think she'd been with Angelus very long, although I don't know where she was before. It seems like kind of a coincidence that the one Slayer who was known by one of us, just happened to be the last. What if they hid her somehow? When I went there the first time, Angelus was interrupted by an 'emissary of the three'. The way Angelus left off what he was doing, he had a lot of respect for that. We already know the Angelus who came here was in cahoots with the Senior Partners, and we know that they tried again and again to turn our Angel bad again and bring him on board. What if …?"

"I don't know. You think it was a … warning?"

"Truth to tell, I don't know, Love. It just … seems a little too neat. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe …"

It's a chilling thought. So far, we've got three Angels - there's ours, there's the one Dru took off with her, and the one the other Buffy dusted. I can't help but wonder how many others in an infinite universe of worlds are still soul-less, and in league with the Senior Partners. As far as I'm concerned, one is one too many.

* * *


	50. Chapter 50

_A/N: Again, due to problems uploading chapters on this site, this chapter is late. You have my apologies, but whatever is causing the problem seems to be sporadic, and as yet, I've heard nothing regarding the problem from the management of the site._

**Chapter 50 – 4 August 2004**

Our group was depleted even before the funerals. Angel went back to LA on the first available flight, no doubt sensing the way that no one was exactly comfortable with him. Willow, while awake, has been spirited off to Devon by Gwynneth. It's going to take a while for her to recover, and the strain of attending the two funerals was generally agreed to be something she should avoid.

So, those of us who're left have been attending funerals. First, we had the other Buffy's. That was an odd thing. I went to Buffy's funeral once before, as did Giles and Dawn, and this one brought back bad memories of that time. About the only thing that saved my sanity on that one was the way my Buffy held onto me all the way through. Truth is, before the funeral, I was more worried about her. Seeing what Angelus did to her other self's been hard on her. She's been remote since she saw that - not herself at all. I'd been waiting for that funeral, desperate to get it over with because I thought it'd help her put it behind her. Not that you ever really forget something like that, but she's seen enough horror in her lifetime, and while this is more personal than most of it, she's managed to get over things before. My reaction I wasn't expecting. Still, once it was over, she seemed better, and when I suggested we do a patrol she agreed eagerly. We got some violence in, and then, well, we made a mad rush back to my flat and spent the rest of the night not sleeping.

Of course, that meant that getting up this morning in time for Moira's funeral was a little more difficult than it should have been. And it was another occasion I wouldn't have got through without Buffy.

The contrast between the two services was huge. Buffy's was small - just Buffy, Dawn, Giles, Gus, Fiona and me. It took place at a crematorium, with a few words said by some bloke whose name I don't remember who Giles brought up from London. The coffin disappeared behind the shutters, and we left.

Moira's couldn't have been more different. The church was full, a number of others from the Council mingling with locals. The service was in a local church, the minister talking about Moira's place in the community. There was nothing said about her involvement with the Council or witchcraft or vampires. There was even some family - a niece and nephew with their families. From what was said, they all travelled from other parts of the country.

I had to watch the burial from a distance, since it took place during broad daylight. The whole thing was difficult, but seeing that coffin, more child- than adult-sized, disappear beneath the ground was almost more than I could cope with. The knowledge that her husband was already there was the only positive thing about it - knowing that she believed she was going to be reunited with him.

We didn't go to the church hall afterwards. The idea of sharing cups of tea or sherry or whisky with people who didn't know the Moira I knew … Instead, we went back to the flat, everyone except Gus and Fiona, and I broke out a bottle of whisky and some beer, and Giles and I drank too much. Buffy kept Dawn out of the way, and just kept an eye on us, finally calling a cab for Giles and putting me to bed. And the most amazing part of that was the fact that she climbed in beside me and held me until I finally slept.

And this morning, the postman brought a surprise. A letter, addressed to me, all letterhead and crests. It's from a solicitor, asking me to make an appointment with them 'at my earliest convenience'.

Dawn arranged to go shopping with Fiona this morning - something about going to local markets - so by the time I'm awake and I've cleared my head enough to take in the contents of the letter, it's lunchtime. Still, I call the number, and I'm offered an appointment this evening - later than normal office hours - and that, I'm quite certain, is, or was, Moira's doing.

I make my way to the office at the appointed time, just a few blocks away from the flat, and find that at this time of day, I can walk in through the front door without smoking at all. Buffy's with me - it's almost as if she doesn't trust me on my own, but I'm not complaining. We're called into an office, wood-panelled and grand, with a huge, polished desk, and a small, balding, bespectacled man. He introduces himself as Mr. Wilson, greets us warmly, and asks us to sit down. We do, and he pulls a file to the centre of his desk.

"Mr. Sinclair, I must thank you for contacting the office so promptly. The matters arising from the will of Moira McConnechie are fairly simple, but it is always preferable to get things moving as soon as possible."

"I'm not sure how this affects me," I start, but he holds up a hand.

"Of course, so just let me explain. Moira McConnechie had a sizeable estate. The bulk of that is to go to a trust fund, and I will explain more of that in a moment. However, I should tell you that, with the exception of that sum and a few, personal and family items, the rest of the estate has been willed to you. That part of the estate includes the whole of the building known as 111 Blythswood Terrace, where you are currently in residence in one of the basement flats."

"What? You …"

Again, he holds up a hand. Buffy takes my hand in hers and squeezes it.

"In addition to that property, there is a small portfolio of investments, with an annual income of some fifteen thousand pounds based on figures from the last financial year. It is a stipulation of the bequest that you maintain current arrangements both as regards the property and the portfolio for at least the next five years. After that, you will be permitted to dispose of them as you wish."

"You're joking, Mate. No way would Mrs. M …"

"And yet she did. But that is not the whole of your involvement in this matter. As I mentioned before, the bulk of Mrs. McConnechie's estate is to go into a trust fund, that fund to be at the disposal of the Council of Watchers. However, it is a requirement of this bequest that you, Mr. Sinclair, as an employee of the Council, be given responsibility for ensuring that this money is used to provide for the upkeep of active and retired Slayers. Mrs. McConnechie felt quite strongly that this was her best insurance that the money would be allocated as she would have wished. Of course, you must decide whether or not you are willing to take on this responsibility. Her previous Will, and the alternative if you should choose not to be involoved, required simply that the trust be administered by the Council, but she was concerned that some regimes within the Council have not always had the best interests of Slayers at heart. You have time to come to a decision, of course. I understand that this has been a surprise to you, so I would simply ask that you think about what I have said over the next few days. However, I have one more duty at this time, and that is to give you this."

He hands me a letter, pale yellow notepaper with my name in blue ink in Moira's handwriting. It's sealed, and I look at it, mesmerised for what if probably longer than is natural.

"Let's go," she says softly. "You can read it later, in private." I find myself nodding and being led out of the room, not really sure what has happened.

Once outside, we get into the car, and I put the envelope on the steering wheel and look at it.

"Why, Buffy? Why would she do that? I'm not … I don't deserve …"

"That's two questions. Why did she want you looking out for the Slayers? Because she trusted you. You obviously convinced her that you won't betray them, that you can be trusted to keep their needs in mind regardless of who's actually running the Council. And you've got the whole immortality thing going too - so it'll be a while before they can get rid of you."

"Ok, maybe," I agree, not entirely convinced. "But the rest of it? That money - with the building too … it's …"

"Let's go back, and then you can read the letter. Maybe it'll make more sense then."

I put the unopened letter in my pocket and start the engine. Once home, we find that Dawn's back, and to Buffy's unspoken question I gesture that she doesn't tell her for now. I leave the girls in the living room with Dawn showing off her purchases and go into the bedroom where I stare at the envelope for several minutes before I finally tear it open. It's a single page in the same handwriting as the envelope.

_Dear William,_

_If you're reading this, then you've met with Mr. Wilson, and he's told you how my Will affects you._

_First, I'd like to apologise. I've given you a huge responsibility, and that's quite unfair of me. However, it seemed to me that your arrival solved a problem I've had for some time, namely, how to ensure that the money is spent for the benefit of the girls who risk their lives daily for the rest of us. While I trust Rupert Giles to do his best, he's human, and as such, will be replaced in time. The history of the Council is filled with bequests which were intended for one purpose, but later, that purpose has been disregarded due changing priorities. I need someone who will continue to ensure my wishes are carried out for as long as possible. In my defence, you can leave the actual investment of the Trust in the hands of Mr. Wilson's firm, as their advisors have controlled my investments for many years._

_In order to sweeten the pill, I have made a personal bequest to you, but that is given without conditions. Between the building and the portfolio, you have a home, and the income from both should provide a simple standard of living - indeed it is what I've been living on for some years._

_I wish you well, William. You've surmounted hurdles which would have stopped most, fighting your nature to become someone I can honestly say it's been a pleasure and an honour to call a friend._

_Moira McConnechie _

I read the letter over and over, trying to come to terms with what it says. I'm so involved in it, that I don't hear Buffy coming in until she sits on the bed beside me. Wordlessly, I pass the letter to her and she reads it in silence. When she's finished, she puts the letter down and looks at me. There are tears shining in her eyes, and she holds out her arms to me. I fall into them, and the tears I didn't shed earlier at the funeral find their way now.

I know that Buffy believes in me. Somehow, I've accepted that. But for someone like Moira to say things like that - to show such trust in me - I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to live up to her expectations. One thing is certain, though. I'm bloody well going to do my best.

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	51. Chapter 51

**Chapter 51 – Sunnydale, 19 August 2004**

The crater looks different. Last time I saw it, it looked raw, like a recent wound. Now, there're weeds growing in and around it and it's starting to look like it belongs. There're fences around it, complete with signs warning of the danger, but it's not as if anyone's around to patrol it. We go past the barriers, a small group lit only by moonlight. Giles, Dawn, Spike and me. It's funny how things end up – all four of us have had our differences, yet on this we're united. I'm holding the urn containing the ashes, and when we're assembled, as agreed in advance, we each say a few words, although as it turns out, it's a very few words.

"I wish you peace," intones Giles.

"Peace and excitement in just the right amounts," corrects Spike.

"Look after Mom, and let her take care of you too," I murmur.

Dawn completes the moment with her, "You saved the world a lot. And now you're home."

With that, I hurl the urn down into the crater, watching as it smashes and disintegrates, the other Buffy's dust mingling with the remains of Sunnydale.

On the ride back to LA, we're all deep in thought, or in Dawn's case, snoring. The past few weeks have been like a new beginning in many respects. Dawn's all set for school to start. We're back in our apartment in LA, a place which seems like home now only because she and Spike have been there too. Giles is staying with us, a flying visit to the US before going back to London. Sadly, Spike's going with him. They're going to spend some time sorting out just how he's going to fit into the Council set up now, and exactly what his duties will be. I already know he'll be spending some time in Glasgow and some in London, but for the next year, it's actually been agreed that he can do the bulk of his work out of the LA office. Once Dawn's in college, I think there's a good chance we'll both base ourselves in Glasgow. I can certainly continue with the work I was doing in Rome from there, and Spike really wants to turn his flat into what he terms 'a proper home'.

The relationship between Giles and Spike has been interesting. Once he knew that Giles was trying to accept him, it seemed as though Spike stopped trying to irritate. I suppose I knew all along that his most irritating behaviour was a defence mechanism – a reason he could use for being rejected without having to face a harder truth. If only he'd had a more positive experience from all of us from the beginning, maybe it wouldn't have been needed. But then, events before he was turned also contributed. Oh, there're still times when I can see Giles biting his tongue rather than give the scathing reply that comes to mind, and similarly I see Spike stopping in mid-sentence, modifying his manner to seem more serious, but it's getting better.

I've heard from Angel – just a couple of emails. He and Nina seem to have settled down – she's actually moved in with him. We haven't made any plans to meet. I don't think I'll be able to be comfortable with him for a while, and for once, I think he realises it. Of course, we'll be in the same city and there might be reasons to work together and we might bump into one another, so we won't be actively avoiding each other either.

My relationship with Spike is something else again. With everything that happened in Glasgow, we both needed each other very badly. Given that we're both people who don't easily trust others in that way, it was a revelation. He was there when I needed him, but he gave me space too, so I didn't feel hemmed in. And the other side of it, knowing that he needed me too ... that was special. The depth of his need for me is greater than I've ever experienced, and there was a time when I'd have run a mile rather than take on that responsibility, but I don't want to now. Yes, it's a huge responsibility, but it's mutual, the woman in me needing him as much as the man in him needs me. We're still learning how to be together, but then that's a lifelong endeavour.

I fall asleep in the midst of these thoughts, safe in the knowledge that night driving is Spike's speciality.

It's early morning when we pull up outside our apartment in LA. Spike knows just where to park to minimise his smoking rush to cover, and we all make our way inside.

Dawn immediately sets about getting some breakfast underway, microwaving some blood with no more thought than putting on the coffee. I wander into the living room and spot that the answering machine light is flashing. I play the single message.

"Buffy, it's Angel. You know I wouldn't call if it wasn't important. I've had a ... letter that I think you and, er, Spike should see. Let me know how you want to do it. I could just copy it and put it in the mail, but I think it'd be better to talk. You know my number."

I look up to see that Spike heard the message.

"That what you're going to do?" he asks.

"What, get him to mail it? Seems ... unnatural."

"And having a vampire for a boyfriend doesn't?"

"You know what I mean. Maybe ... maybe we should meet. Somewhere neutral."

"There's a coffee shop close to his hotel. They do a killer chocolate fudge cake."

I raise my eyebrows at him. If he had his way, I'd weigh twice as much as I do now.

I call Angel and make the arrangements, and after a hurried breakfast, we go back out.

Angel's sitting there already when we arrive, at a table towards the back where there isn't any chance of stray sunlight, although to be honest, there's not a lot of natural light anyway. He looks nervous.

We order coffee, and when the waitress is out of sight, Angel pulls a letter from his pocket.

_Angel,_

_I have been asked to pass on a message from my former employers, but it is complicated, and I will try to explain as well as I can._

_You see, business is about 'face'. If you have 'face', people will trust you and it is easy to do business. If you lose your face, it is a very different matter. Things that were once easy become difficult, and it can become so difficult that it is easier to move elsewhere. That is what has happened with Wolfram and Hart. After Los Angeles, it was suggested that anyone who could cause your group to lose face would be rewarded. As you know, these attempts were not successful. The result is that it is Wolfram and Hart who have lost their face, and those responsible have therefore decided to dissolve the company. _

_For myself, I am looking forward to a new career. I have been appointed CEO of the Rome_ _office of a new company – World Information News. It is a very exciting opportunity, and I am very much pleased. In fact, I can even keep my old office and many of my staff, as WIN has taken over the Rome_ _offices of Wolfram and Hart. Isn't that a coincidence?_

_The message from my former employers is simple. You have won for now. Wolfram and Hart no longer exists, although the individuals continue and their memories are long._

_For myself, I wish you a long and happy life, and I will be at your disposal if you ever visit Rome_ _again._

_Ilona Costa Bianchi_

"Who's she?"

"She was the CEO of Wolfram and Hart's Rome office. We met her when we went there to retrieve a head."

I notice that Spike conveniently doesn't mention that he and Angel also didn't bother to let me know they were there.

"So, what? They've given up?"

"Hardly, Pet. They've just switched their base. Instead of evil lawyers, it's evil news people. Got to hand it to them – there's just as much scope for evil-doing, but it's a new name so they can start again. That how you see it, Angel?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know what to believe."

"So what're you going to do? Is this letter going to change anything?"

"No. I don't suppose it does."

"Well then, time'll tell whether they mean it or not. It'll be easy enough to find out if they've really dissolved the company. As for the rest, if they do mean it, then I suspect Buffy or another Slayer'll upset them some time in the future anyway, so they'll come gunning for us again. Don't think we can beat them, best we can do is stop them from winning."

I purse my lips at that comment, and Angel's nod of agreement. It's a depressing thought, but he's right. Our job is to stop them from winning. And in the meantime, I get to live and love and have a life. So, on balance, I reckon I'm not doing too badly.

I rest my hand on Spike's thigh under the table. Whatever they throw at us, we'll fight it together.

The End

_A/N: Many thanks to all of you who've been reading and a special thank you to those of you who've commented. And if you haven't commented already, now's a good time ..._

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